Becoming Me
by FangQueen13
Summary: PostBecoming. A vengeful spell mixes up Spike and Buffy's bodies...but much more is mixed up than that. For Buffy, her allies, and her enemies, survival means coming to terms with who you are, and becoming who you want to be. BuffySpike FaithOFC
1. Becoming

Disclaimer: the Buffyverse, the plot I've used as a setting to jump-start Becoming Me, and most major characters belong to Joss and the folks at Mutant Enemy and not to me. All I claim ownership of is my particular manipulation of the characters, my plot, my writing, and my original characters: Amber Priest, Amelia Reinhardt, Lilia Galvez, Adam Shawcross, Mr. Brown, and any other characters I've forgotten that do not appear in BtVS or AtS.

This story can also be found on Adult Fan Vampire's Kiss, and Bloodshedverse, and anyone else interested in archiving it should email me

On with the first bit of this story…there are many more chapters to come!

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**1: BECOMING**

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"God, he's gonna kill her."

Angelus advanced on Buffy, some light from somewhere glinting off the sharp sword he was threatening her with. Spike watched, having difficulty tearing himself away. _The bint is crying...She really is in love with him, isn't she..._

Shrugging, Spike turned and walked off with a limp Drusilla slumped in his arms.

"Now that's everything, huh? No weapons...No friends...No hope." Angelus's cruel smile split across his face.

Buffy closed her eyes. _He's right, I have nothing now. No weapons, no home, no chance at anything happy or beautiful._

She tried not to hear him taunting her. "Take all that away...and what's left?"

Buffy's mind flashed back to earlier in the day, wondering what she could have done differently to produce a different ending. She remembered that weird demon - Whistler, that was his name - and his unconventional pep talk. "In the end, you're always by yourself. You're all you've got. That's the point."

Buffy could hear the wind hiss as Angelus thrust the sword into her face. Quick as lightening, her hands shot up to sandwich the blade.

_I'm all I've got,_ she thought wryly. She opened her eyes and stared menacingly into her ex-boyfriend's. What's left, he'd asked? Well, he was fixing to find out. "Me."

* * *

"Bugger." The bleached-blonde swerved the car and it screeched to a halt in the freeway shoulder. He glanced at the unconscious Dru. As soon as she'd woken up she'd called for her Daddy. Spike had knocked her out again. 

Growling, he scolded himself for his stupidity. He should have known she'd always prefer Angel to him. Of course he loved his Dark Princess, more than anything, but he didn't see the harm in driving the ten miles back to Sunnyhell for one last breif visit. After all, he owed Angel a big, dusty death.

"Wonder, what are you doin' now, mate?" Spike asked an absent Angelus. "I'll bet you're sucking the life right out of that sexy bird of yours."

Spike had gotten used to thinking of the Slayer as sexy. Sure, it had been shocking enough back in November, when he'd watched his minions' videos of her fighting. He'd started wanting her so badly he'd begun stroking himself as he watched her fight on tape.

And of course, she was as deadly to him as sunlight.

"Bugger," he said again. "Can't bloody get her out of my mind." He tossed his bottle of alcoholic beverage on the floor, and sharply pulled back onto the deserted freeway, speeding back towards Sunnydale.

* * *

Willow felt the bed sheets slipping, pulling spell contents closer to the edge of the bed. She paused in her chanting for several seconds to tug the cloth back, and then continued. 

Green sparks crackled around the Orb, but Willow was so intent on her chanting that she didn't notice the undesired light.

* * *

"Goodbye, Lover," the Slayer spat. 

Buffy pushed the sword deep into Angelus's stomach, hearing his gasp of pain. _Die, Angelus, you bastard._ Green light exploded in the room, bouncing off the walls and digging its heat into Buffy's and Angelus's flesh.

The portal closed around the vampire, who was screaming pain so intense it overwhelmed his stomach's throbbing. The pain washed away thought and memory in its sudden, throbbing flood.

He opened his terrified, gentle eyes just as the portal closed round him. He had no recollection of what he was doing...wherever he was... but he had an idea. Terrifying guilt poured over him, incoherent knowledge of centuries of atrocities. "I'm sorry, Buffy," Angel whispered.

Buffy stared blankly at where Angelus had been seconds ago. She felt filled to the brim – choking on too much energy, too much knowledge, too much grief. _I can't believe he's gone...I can't believe I killed Angel - even if he wasn't the same Angel I loved._

Outside, a car slammed on its brakes and the driver hopped out, leaving the engine running and the door open. Spike rushed down the steps and into the courtyard. "Slayer?" he called, following her smell at a run. "Slayer!" _ Bloody hell,_ he thought. _Why do I even care?_

Buffy shivered in front of the closing portal, arms limp by her sides. A few tears crept down her cheeks, but a solid barrier of surprise inhibited her ability to feel. She couldn't believe everything was really over.

"Slayer?" Buffy turned to look at Spike as he approached her. "If there's -"

"I killed him."

Spike raised his eyebrows at her, impressed.

"I didn't even think about it. It was just like, 'Stab, you're it!'"

Spike looked into her hazel eyes. "Well, yeah. You're impulsive, Slayer, it's in your nature." Buffy sniffed, and without thinking Spike pulled her into his arms. _Guess bein' impulsive's in my nature too,_ the vampire reflected.

Buffy snuggled into Spike's duster. He held her gently, his mind miles away from Drusilla, Big Bad, and the blood pumping inches away from his mouth. All he thought of was the moment, and of the sexy blonde Slayer he cradled in his arms.

* * *

The courtyard of the mansion was fading from black to blue. "I - I have to get out of here," Buffy told Spike, pushing him away from her. 

The vampire smirked. "All this closeness making you uncomfortable, luv?" Sure made his pants uncomfortable; being so close to her and smelling her vanilla-scented shampoo had caused a very large response south of the equator.

"No - actually, yes - but I mean this town. I need to get out of Sunnydale."

"Oh. Well, I can see that," he said almost sympathetically, sliding his hand around the back of her neck and massaging her ear with his thumb.

"That's great, Spike. Now bye." She stalked off in the wrong direction, hoping he couldn't smell the wetness between her legs. _He is kind of hot…_ she justified. _What? Evil vampire, hot? No! Bad, bad Buffy..._ Only a physical reaction, betrayal by the flesh...

"Door's this way, luv," he called out to her in an amused tone. "'Less of course you prefer dead ends."

Buffy followed him, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest to make sure he didn't make the mistake of thinking she was grateful.

* * *

"Spike, just because I'm letting you give me a ride home, it doesn't mean we aren't enemies." 

"Hell yeah, I'm _evil_, baby!" he growled, pulling over roughly on her street and running two tires up on the curb. He heard Drusilla's unconscious body slide around in the back seat.

Buffy looked at him scornfully. "Spike, you're wasted," she informed him snottily.

"We creatchures of the night can't get drunk. Vampire conshtitution and all."

"Whatever."

Spike dropped the keys into his pocket and made his way to Buffy's porch before realizing she'd gone along the side of the house. He took a swig of something very strong and followed her.

"Shneaking in, Shlayer? I thought chyou were too moral for tha'." He chuckled drunkenly.

"If you get me caught," Buffy hissed, "My mom'll be vacuuming you up off the floor tomorrow."

Spike had an inkling that his unlife had just been threatened, so he kept quiet as they entered her room.

After the Slayer had collected her things and left a note for her mother, she and Spike climbed back out her window.

"So, you're sherious abou' this shkipping town deal?" Spike asked. He felt surprisingly guilty about helping her run away.

"I - can't stay here..." she mumbled.

Nodding, Spike walked her back to his car. "Geddin."

Incredulously, Buffy looked at him as she opened the passenger seat door. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she inquired.

"Schlayer, I don't - lissen, le's chat about thish later, arright?"

"Spike, what..." She watched him sniff the air, his wrinklies rising out of his forehead.

"Dru."

Buffy raised her eyebrows in "what the_ hell _are you talking about?" sort of way.

Spike ran an uncoordinated hand through his hair. "She's gone."

* * *

"'Orrid, naughty Slayer," Dru moaned. "Stealing away my Daddy and my Spike." She walked along a torch-lit stone passageway. "But soon the water turns, and the earth will sing 'er lowest song to you." 

Dru pushed open ornately carved doors with a soft cackle. "Soon the pretty Slayer will pay me back..."

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How did you FF folks like it? Review to tell me what you think – fans, flames, anything, I just love to hear from you! (ok, maybe I don't LOVE getting flames, but I feel like I should not infringe upon anyone's right to free speech and you deserve to tell me if you think it's awful. So knock yourself out.) Next chapter coming soon! 


	2. Vendetta

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Next installment!

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**2: VENDETTA**

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"There's another McDonald's, Spike!"

"Slayer," he demanded, "Would you shut up already? I'm tryin' to drive here." Buffy decided that maybe there was something to his claims about a "vampire constitution." Already he seemed sober, although more irritable than usual.

Of course, his touchiness could be related to her presence in the car. "Driving would be easier if you were sober. And besides, I'm hungry." She pouted, the reflection in her glossy bottom lip catching Spike's eye. _She's the Slayer, mate,_ he reminded himself. _She'd dust you for even thinking it._

He stared pointedly at her neck. "You think I'm not hungry?" he asked suggestively, cocking his head.

"Ew, gross, Spike."

He drove in silence. He didn't know what to say - she'd already told him to take or to Los Angeles, so no room for conversation there. And every time he brought up the case of the missing Drusilla they began hurling accusations.

"Fine." He relented, and turned onto the exit ramp, above which was a neon sign for McDonald's. He thought he saw Buffy drooling - but maybe that was just her lip gloss.

* * *

They were sitting outside, on the curb near his car. The crescent moon looked a bit spindly and pathetic, and the city smog veiled most of the stars. _Just wait til we get to LA_, Spike thought. _Even Dru had trouble finding the stars there._

_Dru. _He missed her already. Drusilla was the love of his unlife, his definition of passion. For the thousandth time that night, he asked himself what he was doing helping the Slayer. Little old Becca and her blasted Sunnyhell farm were the two things Spike hated most in the world. The only excuse he could find for his actions was that he had a third thing he hated: the image of the spunky, sassy, sexy Slayer, limp in Angelus's arms, her neck a bloody mess. The same thing he hated about the Slayer drew him to her – she was so full of energy and hate for vampires – and it seemed sacrilegious for her to be done in by the creatures she loathed.

Buffy tossed her wrappers away, and ran into Spike. She tried to step back, but his hands pressed into her lower back, holding her to him. "My turn." He traced a finger down her throbbing vein. With a grin he imagined her writhing and screaming beneath him as he yet again tasted the blood of a Slayer. Every thing he'd done to aid her that night only made him more resentful of her, because he knew she was somehow ensnaring him. He didn't want her dead, or hurt too badly...But neither was Spike a stupid souled Poof, and the fact that he was displaying Slayer altruism disgusted him.

Buffy tried to feel repulsed, but it wasn't working out for her. His gold eyes watched her steadily. His lips were inches from hers, and slowly they came up to press savagely against her mouth. Her heart was beating wildly, and he could hear it.

His unnecessary breaths blew air on her cheek, her ear, her jawbone...and she just wanted him closer. She slid her body up against his, her loins throbbing for contact. The fact that he wanted to stand this close to her, press his body into hers was intoxicating, and Buffy was incapable of finding a reason to stop him. She didn't _want _to stop him.

_Never counted on it being this easy... _Spike thought. He'd been on his guard; in front of him was one hell of a Slayer, and he hadn't expected her to let him take her blood without a fight. She quivered with anticipation. She felt sure Spike could feel her puckered nipples poking into his chest, even through all their layers. And she _knew_ he could smell the wetness dripping from her core.

Spike licked a spot on her neck, and she melted in his arms, letting out one quiet wimper. _That's sexy - no, bad Buffy!_ A small growl vibrated his chest as he slowly he sank his fangs into the Slayer's jugular, taking several small pulls of her blood.

Buffy gasped as unexpected euphoria tore through her inexperienced body. _Feels so...Aah. Didn't expect it not to hurt..._ Neither Buffy nor Spike thought about the two Slayers he'd already killed; they pair of them was completely alone in the present.

As Spike carefully removed his fangs to begin sucking at and cleaning the bite, the entire area around them went dark. Spike's vampire seeing caught lights flashing out in all the surrounding blocks.

Something about this wasn't normal. _Supernatural,_ decided Buffy as the sky and moon flashed red, white lightening ripping a whole in the hue. _Definitely supernatural._

"Bloody hell," came from Buffy's lips. "Slayer, what the hell am I doing in your body?"

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**Author's note: from this point onwards (until it's no longer applicable) "Buffy" refers to Buffy's mind in Spike's body, and "Spike" refers to Spike in Buffy's body. For those who asked, Buffy sounds like Spike while she's in his body. Imagine it like S4 Who Are You, only with Spike instead of Faith.

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The vampire and the Slayer stared at each other, adjusting to being in each other's bodies. "Who the hell would to this to us? Who _could_ do this to us?" Buffy frantically ran her fingers through her newly acquired platinum hair.

"Got any enemies who'd love torture you, Slayer? Cos this sure is Hell."

"Ha, ha," Buffy replied sarcastically. Although personally, she wasn't that horrified. When Spike got too boring to listen to, she knew she could amuse herself with her new body - which, she had to admit, was an extremely attractive body. She hadn't had very much exposure to naked male bodies, especially naked Spike bodies, and she was up to a little exploration, provided that the former owner was nowhere nearby.

The two continued bickering until Buffy, unsure about when the sun was going to come up, decided she didn't want to dust if it caught her by surprise. She dragged Spike back to the car and he resumed driving.

"Slayer," Spike scolded, "You haven't got a driver's license, have you?" He'd finished searching her purse, jacket, and jeans pockets.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy kept staring out the window. "Have you?"

"Well, no, but - Bloody hell, woman! Could you _not_ argue with me for just one bloody second? It's your fault if I get pulled over because you never got yourself a stupid little card."

Quietly, Buffy fine-tuned her skills at acting superior. He was just _so_ irritating - why did she let him drive her anyway? Come to think if it, why was his car even there to drive her, instead of miles away...? "Spike?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah?"

"Exactly what part of 'leave Sunnydale and never come back' doesn't make sense to you?"

Spike tried to growl, but Buffy's voice box wasn't made for it, and his growl came out sounding like a car engine very much on its last legs. "The part where nancy-boy kicks your ass when there's no one there to help you!" he retorted. Truthfully, Spike didn't know why he'd come back to Sunnydale like he promised not to. But he was beginning to he hadn't.

"Spike, the only ass that got kicked was his. And I don't remember your being there - _you_ showed up after, for cleanup. Oh - turn left here, I think. This is Buena Vista..."

Spike ignored her directions, turning angrily into the parking lot for the hotel across the street. Who did the Slayer think she was, ordering him around? _She may like to think she's above us vampires,_ he chuckled to himself, _But right now, she IS one._

"Slayer." Spike tossed her a Neiman-Marcus purse. "You're paying for your room with your money, and I'm paying -" he pushed Buffy to the wall, reaching into the duster she wore and grabbing a wallet, "with mine."

"Hey!" Buffy shouted at him as he entered the lobby. "You think I'm gonna let you stay alone, with my body! You're delusional!"

Spike smirked as he walked through the doors. "Try to stop me, Slayer."

Buffy raced through the doors and darted between customers with suitcases and the employees with dry-cleaning racks. She arrived at the kiosk and could see Spike still struggling to get through the crowds. It seemed a buff, shirtless man was talking to him insistently. Buffy sighed. _How come the hottie talks to me when I'm not in there?_ she asked herself indignantly._ Not that this body isn't any good or anything..._ She ran her hand over her new abs.

"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" the receptionist asked, brushing a copper lock of hair behind her ear and blushing prettily. Buffy's new vampire ears could hear the redhead's heart beating rapidly.

_Oh God, oh God...She's coming on to me!_ "I, um, my...wife and I, we need a room." Buffy tapped her black nails on the counter nervously. _She is so not gonna buy that.._

"Of course," the girl said, and Buffy could almost see the disappointed "fuck" that was trying to escape from the girl's lips. "Would you like queen-sized, king-sized, or a suite?"

"Uh..." said Buffy intelligently. Spike was approaching. "Um, there's my wife now...I'll go ask her." Buffy stalked over to Spike, and glared down at him. She was ready to forcefully inform him that they were sharing a room, but unfortunately the receptionist followed. "Er, hello, darling," she greeted, a forced smile on her lips.

"Slayer, what the bloody -"

The receptionist began to speak. "Sir, have you and your wife decided yet? There are some other customers waiting."

Suddenly understanding the situation, Spike turned to the receptionist. "There's been a mistake. We're not supposed to be sharing a room. In fact, it'd be great if you put us opposite ends of the bloody building." The receptionist stared at Spike incredulously. She assumed the petite girl was joking...but the tone of her voice had been so serious.

"Ha, ha, ha! She's kidding - really, she's such a comedian! We've decided to share a king-sized room." Buffy liked large beds - lots of sprawling room.

"Certainly," replied the receptionist. "Would you like the $85 a night option, or the $110 one?"

Spike waited for Buffy to pay, but she turned to him, saying "Honey? You have the money, remember?" Grumbling, but not finding a way out the situation, Spike handed the receptionist a wad of green bills. The receptionist handed Buffy two keys, and told them to have a nice day, trying to get rid of them.

"You'll pay for that, Slayer," Spike grumbled.

"Really? You're not gonna hurt me. I'm in your body."

Spike ran a finger down the vain in his wrist. "But I can hurt yours."

Buffy glared at him. "You're a moron - that would kill me. And since you're _in _ my body, you'd get to die with it. Not to mention that anything you do to my body while you're in it, I bet you feel. Just to let you know." She stalked off, pounding in frustration on the elevator buttons. When the elevator took too long descending from the 17 floors, she gave up and made her way to the stairs.

Spike was close behind. "Not so fast, Slayer." He jumped up on the stair in front of her, blocking her from climbing any higher. "Pay me back. Half of the cost for the room, I want you to give it to me."

Lips closed tightly, Buffy shook her head.

He took one step closer, a small and frightening smile curling his lips. Spike pressed his body up against hers, experiencing the odd sensation of feeling his own body from the outside. Against his female thigh he could feel...Oh Christ, was he turning the Slayer on? "Slayer," he told her suggestively, "I had no idea you..." he looked down.

Buffy would have blushed furiously if she'd had blood in her cheeks. Shifting so that her erection no longer touched Spike, she glared defiantly despite her surrender. "Fine. I'll give you the money. Now get off me."

Spike backed up, but his senses screamed in disappointment at the lack of contact. Boring into her bright blue eyes, he brushed his fingertips down her cheek. It didn't matter that they were his eyes, his cheek, because he knew she could feel the touch. She closed her eyes in a mixture of pain, annoyance, and ecstasy.

Then suddenly she pushed past him and ran up the stairs, leaving him sprawled on the steps. _Bloody hell._

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Review please:)  



	3. Learn to Live With It

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

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3: LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT**

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She refused to let him in the room for two hours. She sat just on the other side of the locked door, tossing snide comments his way when he begged her to unlock. 

Meanwhile, she used the solitude as time to get to know her new body better. Making sure she was out of his hearing range but he was within her own vampiric one, she set out to familiarize herself with the male anatomy. She sat down on the bed and unzipped tight black jeans. Hmm, so Spike didn't wear underwear. Interesting - no, gross. That was very definitely gross, not to mention too much information.

_Sex ed,_ she decided, _is definitely lacking something in its descriptions._ She'd sat through all the boring lectures, and of course she'd had that one experience with Angel, but she now found herself somewhat at a loss.

With her index finger, she poked what was inarguably the most interesting part of Spike's body. It didn't seem to notice. _When at first you don't succeed…_thought Buffy in amusement.

In sex ed she'd often thought that penises looked weird, along the lines of _What was God thinking, making it look like that?_ But when faced with the actual, physical thing, it didn't look quite as odd as she'd originally thought. Little bit funny looking when it was all limp and everything, but Buffy did know from experience that limpness didn't stay an issue for very long.

Soon _it _was itching to be touched.It was fascinating, touching such an intimate part of Spike, partly because she knew it was so wrong. Also intriguing was how she could feel the effects of what she was doing. Buffy felt the warm feeling of stimulation roll through her body.

A small moan escaped her lips as she caressed the length. To her dismay, Spike, even with his new human ears, picked up the sound.

"Slayer? Bloody hell, what are you doin' in there?"

"I'm, uh…Spike, did you know you don't have a reflection?" Okay, that had to be i _the /i _ lamest alibi in the history of forever.

Spike replied cynically. "I'm not surprised, luv. Vampire here, I haven't had one for quite a while. Now let me in this instant, or make me bust down the door to see what you're _really_ doin'."

Buffy hurriedly zipped up her fly, and went to open the door. "You really needed to check up on what I'm doing?" she asked, as if the negative answer should have been obvious.

Spike rolled his hazel, made-up eyes. "Yeah." He stared into her eyes, and she discovered how intimidating her face could be if used correctly. "And besides, I still want my money."

Buffy was about to protest his claims to her purse, but she remembered his ruthless use of embarrassing sexual situations as a persuasion tactic. Glaring daggers – or possibly pointy stakes – she opened her wallet and handed him several crisp bills. Spike pocketed them and then flopped down on the bed, turning on the television.

Buffy stared at him lying on the bed. And then she suddenly noticed something: he was lying on _the _bed. As in singular. As in, ONLY ONE BED.

"SPIKE! What did you do with the other bed?" she demanded, her demeanor verging on hysteria.

"Nothing, luv, I just came in here a few short seconds past. If anyone did anything with any bed, it has to have been you," he told her pointedly. As if he knew what she _had _ been doing...which Buffy realized, he probably did.

She would have flushed. _But what could I have done that would make one bed disappear? All I see is one, really big bed..._ Suddenly reality dawned on the teenager: she'd rented the $85 a night option. Suddenly the price difference between the two types of king-sized rooms made sense. They had spared a pretty penny, and she and Spike were now sharing a room with only one bed between them. "Dangers of frugality," Buffy muttered sulkily.

He seemed amused at her discomfort. "What's that, now?"

"Alright, _move_. Off, get _off_ the bed." At Spike's confused expression, she informed him, "You're sleeping on the floor." Suddenly a large, fluffy pillow collided with her face - apparently Spike disagreed. "You have to," she ordered the rebel, "You're a vampire, and, and, a guy..."

Spike smirked. "Actually, Slayer..." he cupped his hands around two firm breasts, grinning. "It seems to be the other way around." She glared at him reprovingly, and because she couldn't think of a good comeback. She wasn't sure why she hadn't scolded him for touching her body so intimately; only she knew she wasn't altogether sure he wanted him to stop. It was kind of exciting to look at, voyeuristic as it might be. "Why don't you sleep on the floor and tell me how you like it. Then we'll see about trading places tomorrow. But for now, I get the bed."

Pouting, Buffy shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. He thought he could punish her by making her sleep on the floor? Well, she'd show him. She'd sleep on the floor, and she'd even like it. Love it. Maybe she could convince him to trade places with her, after propagandizing him about the virtues of sleeping on the floor.

"Uh, Slayer?" Buffy turned around and glared at the man occupying her skin. "What's this?"

She looked at the stuffed pig he held by the tail. "Oh my God, get your hands off him!" She pulled the pig from Spike's hands and checked the stitching. "This is Mr. Gordo, and he's really old and really special and you've got to be nice to him...And no, I am not six years old, but thanks for seriously contemplating asking. I know it's a silly, girly thing, but Mr. Gordo means a lot to me, so you have to be careful with him, or I will kill you, body switch be damned."

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Buffy rolled her eyes and stalked into the bathroom. She picked up her toothbrush and lifted it to her mouth. Staring into the mirror, fear struck her unbeating heart at what she saw. A toothbrush floated in mid air, brushing invisible teeth.

A scream tore through the entire third floor.

* * *

She'd never live it down. It was 3 in the morning and an hour after the incident, and he had not stopped laughing at her. The room-service ice cream they'd bought was hardly any consolation. 

"So now you see why your sweetheart never kept any mirrors around," he commented, on the verge of laughter. "He didn't want to lapse into puerile screaming bouts every time he tried to gel his hair up. I still can't imagine why your watcher never taught you that vampires haven't got reflections."

Buffy threw her ice-cream container at him - the last comment had been obviously inaccurate and crafted with the sole intention of pissing her off - but he ducked and let it collide with the wall. "Okay, that's it!" she told him, mournfully watching her ice cream drip down the wallpaper. "You made me waste perfectly tasty empty calories on you. Now you have to share." She lunged over to the other side of the bed and thrust her spoon inside the carton.

The man in the Slayer's lithe body protested, "Hey, that's my - That's it, I'll make you pay for all of tomorrow's rent too!"

Enjoying his ice cream and giggling, Buffy teased him without thinking. "Oh yeah? How are you gonna make me?"

Spike could think of a million ways of the top of his head, and not a single one of them was particularly violent or at all evil. Irritated, Spike invented several gory ideas and added them to the list of sexually embarrassing situations. It was terrible how this little blonde teenager had changed him. First the truce, then the pity and the helping - combine that with the lustful attraction he felt towards her, and he might as well kiss his reputation goodbye and don a white hat. Maybe he'd get himself a poncy name like Angel while he was at it. Maybe Poof, or Sir Butterfly. Or Soddin' Wanker.

Rolling her blue eyes at his contemplative expression, she leaned over him and devoured his ice cream. Whenever he squirmed against her she felt her cock respond. _It must just be _his_ body, lusting after _mine_, that's making it do that, _she told herself, _Cos I have so not got feelings for _him_. Well, okay maybe little lusty ones, but they all have to do _directly _with his appearance, and nothing more._

To his dismay, Spike found himself enjoying their almost-innocent snuggle-fest. He watched as lips that had once been in his possession closed over the spoon. Even if it was his body, when he thought of Buffy being inside, he wanted to suck on those lips until they were swollen. _What is this?_ he wondered. _I'm supposed to be mean and evil. This is all that Slayer's bleeding fault! _

"It's all gone," the Slayer whined in dismay. "Spike, can -" she was halted by the way he was staring at her. His gaze was intent and a little pained, and focused all on her.

Spike hated himself. If he wanted to kiss her so badly, then why didn't he? He was evil, right? He didn't understand what as holding him back. His expression changing to one of resolve, he leaned in to capture her lips with his.

She pulled away, shocked and trying to look disgusted. "Spike! Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Only what's natural, luv. You can't deny that there's somethin' between us." He hoped she couldn't. He wanted her to sit her ass down while he tried to kiss her.

"Yeah," she agreed sarcastically. "There is something between us – space! And more and more of it as I back away from you." She backed off the edge of the bed and then ran into a wall.

Spike sucked in his cheeks, making the gentle, round cheeks look hollow. There was something, he could feel it. Why was she so resistant? When would that aggravating bitch figure out what she wanted? Judging by her boner, she seemed to want him at least a little bit. Spike doubted she'd admit it any time in the present century, however, and he figured wouldn't get over thinking the words "her boner" any sooner.

She walked over to the television and turned it off angrily. "Spike, be quiet now. I'm going to sleep." Grabbing Mr. Gordo and the comforter off the bed, she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes.

She hadn't realized exactly how hard the floor would be. She kept shifting her position, trying to find a way to sleep that didn't mash her skin against her bones. She found sleep quite elusive, and the few moments she managed to drift off, she was bombarded with nightmares about Angelus hurling her into a wall. A very hard wall, which slammed into her in the exact places the floor pressed against.

Spike groaned. The Slayer was making at least twice the noise he was making. What a hypocrite. "Slayer?" he whispered. If she was asleep, he didn't want to anger her, because he was sure her creative Slayer brain could come up with some terrible form of torture.

"What, Spike? Leave me alone, I'm trying to sleep."

He smirked. "You always this noisy?"

There was no reply. Maybe she had actually achieved slumber.

Five minutes later, he heard her covers shift. Then he could pick out footsteps and the creak of bedsprings. He strained his human eyes and saw a dark form sliding under the covers. "Slayer?"

"Alright, so the floor was harder than I thought. Happy?" Spike laughed at her, and she rolled over to punch him in the stomach. Her hand came in contact with bare flesh, and roamed around a bit to assure itself of the implications. "Spike? Are you _naked_?"

"I always sleep like this, Slayer."

There was silence again, but Spike doubted that his conversation partner had actually fallen asleep. As soon as he posed the question, she immediately began to lightly snore.

"Slayer? Vampires don't snore. We don't breathe when we're asleep."

"Oh."

* * *

"Show me my little, treacherous snakes," said the vampire. 

The mage needed to take a few moments to process the demand.

"Are they backwards and inside out? I told you to punish my little snakes!"

The mage suddenly understood what Drusilla wanted. "You...want to see the Slayer and the Vampire." Drusilla nodded as if he were an exceptionally stupid child. He waved his hands and the image appeared before their eyes.

"I call that the "Wicked Witch of the West" spell," he commented casually, proudly. Drusilla, however, was far too involved in what she saw.

"No..." the crazy vampire murmured in shock. "'E was my bad puppy, before 'er. What 'as she done to my Spike?"

_

* * *

"No, Angel!" she screamed. She struggled against the hands that were holding her, trying to get to him. She had to explain why she'd killed him!_

_"Buffy, you can't go to him, you have to kick his ass," Willow told her. It was Willow who had her arms around Buffy, pulling her back._

_"Yeah, Buff, kick his ass!" chorused Xander and Giles with excitement, apparently helping to restrain the Slayer._

_"Buffy..." whispered Angel sadly. "I'm sorry for what I did... God, you have no idea how sorry..."_

_"NO!" screamed Buffy as she saw him falling into a swirling portal. Her friends' hands were shaking her, pulling her away from the newly ensouled vampire..._

"Slayer!" shouted Spike, trying to stop her writhing. She'd already tangled all the covers around herself, and she was crying and screaming wildly. "Buffy!" he shook her hard, willing her to wake up from her nightmare.

Her terrified blue eyes popped open, and she stared at him in fear. And then confusion. "Spike?"

"Shh..." he murmured, as he pulled her into his arms. She was bigger than him, but he wrapped his small arms around her and pulled her head and shoulders into his lap. "Shh, Buffy, it's going to be alright."

She sobbed into his stomach, clutching Mr. Gordo tightly to her chest. But her mind was racing. _Buffy...Did he just call me Buffy?_

* * *

Review?

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	4. Feeding Time

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

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* * *

4: FEEDING TIME  
**

* * *

Spike was the first to wake up in the morning. Despite the sensation of waking up to daylight being entirely new to him, he adapted to his situation quickly, deciding to use the opportunity to take a shower without Buffy's interference. The ex-vampire noticed that Buffy's arms were tightly clutched around his middle, and he was somewhat captured by the embrace of her legs as well. Carefully extricating himself from her limbs and climbing off the bed without waking her, he padded on little Slayer feet to the bathroom. 

Although he'd been anticipating it, he was not quite prepared to look at himself in the mirror. A cute little hazel-eyed girl, with a light golden tan and highlighted hair, stared back at him. Spike was glad he'd already come to terms with Buffy's sexiness, because otherwise the feelings evoked by staring at her naked body might have come as quite a shock.

Spike noticed a pair of scabs on the smooth and very kissable neck. A wave of pride washed over him as he remembered that he'd marked her. He'd bitten the Slayer. Chuckling to himself, he wondered what Buffy was going to think when she remembered.

Deciding that his unlife only got better, he stepped into the shower.

* * *

Buffy awoke to the uncomfortable feel of skin being pressed into denim wrinkles. _Oh right. I slept in Spike's jeans_. She was used to sleeping in her flannel pajamas, but even if she hadn't left them in Sunnydale she doubted they'd fit her new body. She could of course make Spike wear them - that would be interesting in itself - but it wouldn't solve her problem. 

A rumbling in her stomach interrupted her inner monologue. It surprised her that vampire stomachs growled, but nonetheless she realized she was hungry. She grabbed her purse, but then realized that maybe she could manipulate Spike into paying for room service, so she decided to wait for him.

Finally she heard the shower turn off, and a wet and dripping Spike strolled out of the bathroom. Buffy stared at him, scandalized. "Spike! Get dressed now!"

Spike looked down at the petite feminine body he was wearing. "Why? 'S not like you've never seen it before," he commented.

"Well, I know, but...You're in there now, and that means _you're _naked, and..." having been unable to find a coherent argument, she glared at him with an expression that clearly said "Your question is so stupid, it doesn't _deserve_ an answer." Smirking, Spike put on Buffy's only pair of clothes.

Buffy's hungry stomach complained again. "Hungry, Slayer?" Spike asked, grinning.

"Yeah, and - Oh! It's your fault…somehow, so you have to pay for room service. So hand over the cash, and I'll make the call."

Spike tossed his wallet in the air repeatedly, catching it deftly each time. "Now is that really a good use of my money?" Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Well, you see, you sure as hell can eat all that, but you're still goin' to be just as hungry. There's this thing about vampires, see, where we drink blood. Maybe your watcher neglected to teach you about that too, but -"

"Eew. Spike, I am _not _ drinking blood. _Ever._"

Spike snorted derisively. Then he happened to catch the look on her face: the look of someone who's lost everything, for whom things only seem to get worse; the look of a girl who wouldn't be surprised to hear she's in Hell. "Slayer, it's not all that bad. We can find you pig's blood - humans eat that." He sat beside her on the bed, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Will it taste bad?" Buffy was surprised that he was willing to help her, instead of watching and laughing. It seemed like he was trying to make her feel better - and that was odd, even though this wasn't the first time. Buffy remembered the previous night, how he'd talked to her after she killed Angelus. _Maybe the whole 'Big Bad' thing is a total smoke screen _she thought.

"Not as good as the real stuff, but it'll fit with your morals self-righteous morals and all." She shot him a glare, but then snuggled back into his embrace.

"How do we get pig's blood? I think Angel just kept it in a cooler, but..."

Spike looked thoughtful. He'd never had to locate pig's blood before; he'd always been able to get human blood on tap. "S'pose we could call a butcher's or something...Sounds like a good place to start, anyway."

* * *

By the time they parked the Desoto in a shady parking lot behind the butcher's, both stomachs were screaming. Buffy whined every time she was reminded of her hunger, but Spike was almost entirely quiet. Only when her complaints grew especially irritating did he inform her that she wasn't the only hungry one around, so to please shut the bloody hell up. 

This particular butcher was obviously not very familiar with the needs of the undead, because all the windows were wide open. Buffy glanced around the shop apprehensively, refusing to move beyond the shadows that covered the back of the shop. "Spike..." she whined. "I'm going to starve myself to death!"

"Shh. Just wait here, luv, and I'll go buy you a few pints."

Buffy watched Spike walk up to the counter and order the blood. She realized that if it weren't in high-heeled boots, the little Slayer body would be only a head's height taller than the counter. Embarrassing, most definitely. As Spike returned to her with the much-needed sustenance, his belated complaints finally kicked in. "Slayer. I'm starving. We are going to a restaurant, now." He pushed her out the back door and into the parking lot. Grumbling, Buffy climbed into the passenger seat, primly sipping her blood.

Spike pulled out of the parking lot and onto a multi-lane road. He was so engrossed in his thoughts of Happy Meals that weren't on legs that he didn't see the car tailing him.

"Spike," Buffy called in annoyance. "Hello-o, earth to Spike? There's a police car behind you."

"Bollocks." He swerved and pulled over next to the sidewalk.

"Moron."

The police car pulled over behind them and a stout woman climbed out of the car with a notebook. "If she tickets me, eat her."

Buffy made a face, which would have looked cute if performed by her original visage, but just looked odd on Spike's. "Yuck."

"Excuse me, miss?" the policewoman interjected. She tapped on the blacked-out window and Spike rolled it down. "You look a tad on the young side. Could I see your license?"

Spike fumbled in Buffy's purse for a wallet, but upon opening it he found there to be nothing in the way of a driver's license. _Soddin' bint.._ "I'm sorry, but I guess I left it at home." At the cop's icy stare, he continued. "You know, I also left my cell...Today's just been...hectic."

_Pathetic _ Buffy thought. _She is _so _not buying that crap. _Realizing that an angry Spike would probably force her to pay the ticket, she hurriedly chose to cover for him. "Really, it's been a hard day. A hard, hard...Buffy's mother, she just die-passed away on Monday, which was four days ago, a-and today we went to pick a coffin...Which, you know, is a hard, very hard thing..." _Okay, I'm not really any better...  
_

Spike leapt at his chance to save their asses and their cash: he started crying. Buffy was appalled; it was so sneaky, and he was making her make-up look even worse than it already did after being slept on. The policewoman looked taken aback, and even more so when Spike resumed talking. "My dad is gone...He's always away on some business trip or another, and so I have to get the funeral ready all by myself..." Sob, sob.

The policewoman wiped her moist eyes with her manicured fingers. "I'm very sorry, miss, it sounds terrible...I can't believe you're holding yourself together as well as you seem to be, given the awful circumstances..."

Spike smiled sweetly at Buffy. "Well, thank God for Spike! I don't know how I'd ever manage without him, he is the sweetest, most understanding boyfriend ever..." Buffy poked Spike angrily.

"Yes, well, you must be incredibly lucky. Now, I'll let you two get on your way home. And I'm incredibly sorry about your mother..." She drove off.

"Well, Slayer, that was bloody brilliant!" Spike grinned, basking in the glory of the successful lie.

"Yeah, well, you were good too. And that bit about my dad was a stroke of genius!"

"Can't deny it." Spike pulled away from the curb and merged with the traffic. "Where is he, actually? It's odd, I've never seen him around..."

The laughter in Buffy's eyes died and her smile shrank. "They're divorced. That's the main reason we moved, I guess." Spike could tell she was biting back tears.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, patting her toned bicep. "Shh. Your mum's a strong woman. You're better off learning from her anyway. Hell, that woman can really wield an axe."

Buffy smiled slightly. It seemed like Spike was becoming her reliable comfort blankie, and he was doing a nice job of it. He always managed to say something that made her feel better, however inappropriate it might seem. Maybe there was more to this unusual so-called evil vampire than she'd thought.

* * *

I'd love to know what you think! Also, throughout the story, if you spot any typos or plot holes or anything and would be so kind as to let me know :) I'd appreciate that as well. Next chapter coming soon! 


	5. Talk It Out

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

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* * *

5: TALK IT OUT**

* * *

"1 large Whopper, 1 large fries, 2 large drinks, and a kids' Happy Meal?" the employee repeated skeptically. 

"He doesn't eat much," Spike replied, gesturing at his actual body. The pimply teenager's eyebrows only went higher as he took in the size of the blonde female placing the order.

"Right-o, that'll be $33.80." Spike handed over the cash just as he felt Buffy's hand on his arm.

"Spike, we've gotta talk." The former-vampire nodded and gestured for her to follow him to the soda machine.

"So, Slayer. Spill."

Buffy watched the level of Mountain Dew rise in one of the large paper cups. "Spike, you can't fill my body up with this much junk food! And besides, Mountain Dew –EEW? It's bad enough that I have to drink platelets, but I refuse to get fat on your watch. Large burger, large fries, large soda, _and_ a Happy Meal, even if it is sans legs? That's about 200 calories too many."

Spike stared at her for several long seconds of silence. Then, "Is that how you get so skinny? You starve yourself and patrol off the few ounces you do eat?"

"Spike," she said, obviously not amused, "I'm not anorexic."

"No. Just obnoxious."

The employee tapped the pick-up counter impatiently. "Your order is ready?"

The pair fell into silence as they went to pick up their breakfast and locate a table. As she passed him with her beeline for the booth she wanted, Buffy muttered, "You are _so_ embarrassing."

"_I'm_ embarrassing, Slayer?" Buffy turned, mouth open, to spit some spicy retort out at him, but she found herself caught in his penetrating stare. _How does he do that?_ she thought. _I thought it was a vampire thing, but my human eyes seem to be working fine for him..._ After she realized she was gaping at him, not to mention looking into his eyes intently, she managed to tear her gaze away. _Stupid vampire_.

Buffy and Spike avoided each other's gaze for Spike's entire hamburger. Spike noticed with frustration that Buffy seemed to be ignoring him effortlessly, sipping on her Coke and reading the advertisements on the tray insert. In contrast, he was finding it nearly impossible to ignore her – he would hear her chewing, or shifting in her seat, or see her in the periphery of his vision. Once or twice he tried to alter his position to increase the comfort level of the booth, but every time he moved his legs they bumped into hers. If he consciously tried to stop thinking about her, unbidden images rose to dance behind his eyes. He remembered kissing her soft lips, remembered sinking his fangs into her sweet-smelling skin and letting her blood pool up on his tongue, remembered holding her while she slept...

"What?" she asked in annoyance.

"Nothing."

She rolled her eyes. "You were staring at my neck!"

"Well, actually," he began, "It's my– " He shook his head. "Slayer, we need to talk."

She popped several of his fries into her mouth. Spike thought they had to talk? What the fuck about? She decided to ask.

"Bloody hell, Slayer. About this...thing – whatever it is – that we have." Spike mentally slapped himself. His speech was even less eloquent than hers. Why couldn't his inner poet rear his poncy head when he was actually needed?

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"Not that I'm saying...It's just, we teamed up for a purpose, but before that – there were clear reasons why I never killed you. Why I never really tried. And I'm starting to think there might have been similar once that were keeping me alive. Cos you're one hell of a good fighter, Buffy."

_There it is again,_ she thought. _Him, making with the "Buffy"..._

"The tension building between...Th- It's like a rush, the thrill and the fear, when we're around each other, Slayer. Don't tell me you don't feel it."

Buffy cocked her head, in a way that drove Spike crazy when she did it in her own body, with her golden hair slipping over her shoulders. "Spike...What are you saying?"

"Just- It's not so unusual. Two people...in the workplace...feelings develop." He chanced a look at her face, to gauge her response.

What he saw made him regret opening his mouth in the first place. Some things obviously worked better as private thoughts than as conversation starters. "No!" she shouted, not quite sure whom she was trying to convince. "No, no, feelings do not develop. No feelings." In her frenzy Buffy tipped over the paper cup of ketchup, spilling the thick red paste over her tray and the table.

Damn. Bloody hell and bugger. He'd certainly botched that one up. As he stared at the red mess, Spike wondered with detached interest whether or not the damage was irreparable. "Not talking 'bout poncy feelings. I mean heat, passion–"

"This– This is insane! Crazy, ok?" Buffy stood up, clambering out of the booth. "We shouldn't be talking, there shouldn't be anything to talk about. What you're saying...It-it's wrong, and, and it's not real."

_Already losing,_ he reminded himself. _Not much else I can say that'll screw this up more than it already is._ "But it is real, Slayer. No matter what you, or I, have to say about it. Slayer, I don't like this either…but I _want_ it. It's real." His blonde head had been turned downwards, studying the ketchup, but now he looked defiantly into her eyes.

"Real to you, maybe. But you're sick, you're a vampire!" Buffy ran her fingers though her platinum hair, realizing that the gel made the task no easy feat. "But me, all _I_ have to say is...whatever you say when you refuse to say anything."

"Slayer –" God, how did she do that? Just by talking, she made his body feel all warm inside. Okay, so it was actually her body, but it was still warmer than usual. Especially in the between-the-legs vicinity...

"No! Just – leave me alone! 'Sod off,' or whatever!"

His stomach twisted, as if she'd punched him with more than just words.

_The nerve she's got, to say that to me...I'm helping her out, slaughtering my bloody reputation to help her take a break from Sunnyhell, and she says to sod off?_ He stood up as well, pain-based anger fueling his outburst. "Fine! Bloody fine. You know, if you get your rocks off living at Burger King, then feel fucking free to do it, as it's _fine_ with me!"

Spike started to walk away, with of course no intention of actually carrying through with his threat. He wanted her to beg him to stay, to apologize and maybe offer to consider what he'd said.

Two steps later, he heard the first sob. It was immediately followed by three more sobs and then a wet-sounding gasp. _She's crying again!_

"Spike..." she squeezed in between noises that sounded a good deal uglier, "You're wrong, you've got to be...I know what lust is like; it's wrong, and it only leads to bad places..." Like Angel. And Acathla. And the sword. "Trust me...you don't want to start..."

"Slayer..." He was at her side again, wrapping his arms around her, much like he had in the mansion. Only it was more awkward, considering he'd suddenly become the smaller one of the pair. "You needn't worry your pretty head. I'm nothing like Angel. And 'sides, if you shag me, I can't suddenly turn evil, since I already am."

Suddenly she looked at him, teary but icily penetrating eyes holding his with a ferocious glare. "Gee, thanks, Spike. _Cordelia _can has more tact."

_Bugger._

* * *

Amelia Reinhardt sifted through a portfolio of papers, crushing the phone between her ear and her firm shoulder. "Yes...180 North Appleton...Definitely, you should...Prices? I'll let you know...Mm-hmm...Well, thank you, Mr. Barry. Good day." 

With a curt sigh, she replaced the phone on the hook and snapped the portfolio shut. She allowed herself one and a half minutes of reclining peacefully in her chair before getting back to business. Even if it was the kind of business that didn't pay as well as real estate.

Amelia opened one of her desk's drawers, examining its contents. She carefully selected several objects and placed them on the desk's surface, peering at them through a magnifying glass. The antique kitchenware glittered at her in an almost conspiratorial way, as if they were in on the secret of her game.

Amelia knew the price she'd paid for the silver spoons, forks, and knives had been far more expensive than their worth...Or rather, more expensive than their worth as antiques. But when she brought her fingers near the polished metal, her senses picked up a reassuring buzz. Her grumpiness about the overpricing melted away – her new magical dining utensils just might fetch her a small fortune on the demon market.

It wasn't that she needed money to carry out her plans; she just liked having it. Of course if her plans succeeded, money would probably be inconsequential. Who needed money when they could get anything they wanted for free? Amelia allowed herself a brief, tight smile before returning to real estate.

* * *

The sun had moved and there was no longer a save pathway of shade leading to the Desoto. Spike went ahead to unlock the car and open the passenger-side door, and Buffy made a wild dash under the cover of the duster. Even though Spike wasn't expecting a barrage of thanks, he ended up being disappointed nonetheless by the ungrateful silence that followed. 

Buffy said absolutely nothing to him; she just slouched in her seat and adopted a pouty face. Gazing at it, Spike realized that pouting wasn't really such a bad look for him. If he ever decided to give up being evil and menacing in the future, he decided he should seriously consider adopting the pout expression.

"Slayer?" He returned his focus to the road, hoping to keep the conversation as uncharged as possible.

She picked at the chipped black nail polish on her fingernails. A pile of little black chips of polish was collecting on Buffy's stomach. "I don't want to talk to you Spike."

Spike felt the rumble in his mind that was usually voiced by a growl in his vampire body. The Slayer had a lot of bloody nerve. "Well I don't really fancy talking to you either, so I guess that makes two of us then," he shot back. _Fucking Slayer_.

She offered him one especially icy glare and then went pack to picking off her nail polish.

_Way to calm her down, you daft wanker. Not that she doesn't deliberately turn every conversation into the bloody Spanish Inquisition._ Spike resorted to the feeble art of bribery. Nonchalantly he reached over her lap to flip open the glove compartment. He drew out a bag of truffles, dropping it in his lap. He extracted one sweet and undid the wrapper with his free hand and his teeth, popping the treat into his mouth.

Buffy couldn't help herself. Her mouth was practically watering at the prospect of truffle melting on her tongue...No! She was supposed to be pissed off as hell at this guy. How come she constantly had to remind herself of that? The Slayer compromised with herself – she watched enviously as he enjoyed his candy, but kept her arms firmly crossed across her chest in a semblance of resistance.

He swallowed. "Want one?" he asked, his lips twitching into a small, mischievous smile. As if he thought the whole situation couldn't be more hilarious. Without waiting for a response that he quite correctly assumed wasn't coming, Spike held a tantalizing raspberry truffle in front Buffy's face. "Those ones are the best," he offered.

Buffy hesitated two seconds for show, and then succumbed. "Can I have it?"

"Say please." He smirked; he was loving every second of this, Buffy could tell.

"Okay, fine. Please. Please give me a truffle."

Grinning, Spike brought the sweet closer to her mouth and placed it ceremoniously on her tongue, withdrawing his fingers slowly enough to feel her lips closing around them. Although she wasn't a fan of patronizing and altogether too sexy way he'd fed her, Buffy discovered that the truffles were as delicious as she'd imagined.

She noticed Spike reaching into the bag for a second helping, and she assaulted him with her pouting, pleading, puppy-dog look.

He thought it was bloody fucking gorgeous.

"Spike? Why did you have these in your car? Do you eat human food normally?"

He chewed a few times and swallowed. "Wouldn't exactly call this food, luv."

"Angel never ate any." She ran her tongue over her blunt, human teeth. _Of course, I've been eating some human food too. Not that I'm a normal vampire, by any means._

Spike gave Buffy a look that very clearly pronounced DUH. "'Course not. He might actually run the risk of enjoying it, and ruin his entire soulful, brooding persona."

The Slayer rolled her eyes, but in a way she recognized that Spike had a point. Perhaps majorly over-exaggerated, but still a point. But thinking at all made her mind drift.

Angel and his soul.

Angelus.

Acathla.

Buffy's mind relived those horrible moments, fighting Angelus, the demon who wore the body of her lover. Plunging a sword through his gut and waiting for the blow of sadness to hit through the shock. She wasn't sure it had yet.

Spike looked over at Buffy, who was gazing fixedly out the window. She seemed to have forgotten about his presence, and she definitely had forgotten to be angry with him about the Angel remark. The whole deal was worrisome.

Buffy didn't even know what hit her. There weren't words to summarize her thoughts. There were barely even thoughts. All she had was a numbingly painful sensation that was beyond thought or understanding.

Spike watched awkwardly from the driver's seat at the woman he didn't know how to help. She sat as if frozen, her face turned sharply towards the window, truffle wrappers in her lap. Spike had always hated crying women – whenever he tried to get touchy-feely he always botched everything up by doing something stupid, and since becoming a vampire he'd tried to avoid such situations.

Spike pulled over sharply, running the front tire up on the curb. He popped her seatbelt and pulled her over the gearshift into his lap. She snuggled into his chest, sobbing wildly. Spike was dimly aware of how awkward it was to have a much larger person seeking comfort from his lap, but he didn't give it much thought. He felt silly enough without needing to think about the picture they would make should someone spot the two of them, crammed between the driver's seat and the steering wheel and the gear shift.

Spike rubbed her back, looking down at her white-blonde hair. "Shh, Buffy...It'll be alright. Not yet, but it will be alright."

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Reviews? Yes please! 


	6. Good and Evil

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

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6: GOOD AND EVIL  
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* * *

"I know I killed _Angelus. _ I know he was evil and was trying to kill everyone, but it doesn't change anything." Buffy spooned the last of the chocolate ice cream into her mouth. She looked up at Spike, for...something. Understanding? Reassurance? Comfort? "I still feel like it was Angel I killed. I can't stop thinking, what if, just at the end, Angel came back and wondered why the hell I was killing him...And...If that were true, I don't know if I could live with myself." 

Spike started to lean over, to touch her shoulder and tell her everything would somehow right itself, but he stopped. _What the bloody hell is happening to me? I'm turning into the soddin' Poofter _

Without a word he jumped out of his chair and left the room.

Buffy heard the door slam. Anger surged through her body. What was his problem anyway? She'd been in the middle of share mode, and he just walked out on her moment of deepness. _That's what I get for picking an evil vampire as my heartfelt talk victim, I guess.  
_

She realized that her eyes were puffy and most likely red from crying, and the rest of her had the sensation of being gross and sticky. A shower seemed just the thing to soothe her skin and soften her anger. She shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the water.

* * *

Amelia drove through the classy wide-spaced neighborhood. Every few miles another luxurious Beverly Hills house greeted her. As she sped by in her shiny convertible, the fizzling sensation inside her chest grew. She knew she was getting close. The psychic energy emanating from whatever she was looking for was impossible to miss, at least for a woman of her abilities. 

As she drove past one impeccably stylish building, firecrackers seemed to go off inside her skull. She u-turned and pulled into the driveway.

* * *

As Spike sauntered down the hallways, he began to feel more like his old self again. Provided, of course, that his old self wore heels and a bra. _What got me acting like such a ponce anyway_he wondered. 

His reflection in the vending machine window had shoulder-length blonde hair, made-up but slightly smudgy eyes, small but preternaturally strong body, and a sturdy pair of 3-inch heels.

Buffy. It was all her fault. There was something about that woman that was absolutely unforgettable. Something that caused master vampires to follow her like lovesick puppies, and to do whatever she wanted, give her whatever she needed. When she was around, it was easy to turn into a complete git.

Spike slammed his open hand against the plastic of the window, sending a long crack up and down the height of the vending machine. 5 packs of Reese's and a roll of Lifesavers fell off their hooks.

He just had to remember to be bad. Maybe not _really_ bad, but bad enough to prevent people from hearing the words "big" and "bad" in conjunction with his name and bursting out laughing. Especially not Dru. He needed to be evil for his Dark Princess, whenever he found her.

The only problem was...he had a growing desire to be good for Buffy.

* * *

"Shh! I see it, Miss Edith. A strange gentleman's coming to town, and he's planning a party! Ooh," she sang, "I i _do__love_ /i a party." 

Dru laid out porcelain tea dishes for herself and her dolls. The vampire danced around her table, straightening the cloth and folding the napkins, humming.

"And his friends...help him for ambition and anger." Her fledgling watched her dubiously, and she wished Spike were there with her. Even if he weren't quite as evil as her Daddy, he was patient with her and he tried his best to listen to her.

Because Drusilla knew something important was coming. She could feel the energy crackling in the air, and she could see the arrival of the newcomer in her mind. Something big and bad was coming, and she was excited.

Busy singing and dancing, she didn't hear the door open behind her.

* * *

Buffy let the hot water pound against her face. _Not having to breathe is way better than it seems it would be _ she thought to herself. i_Just like a lot of things. _ She realized she wasn't sure what other things she meant. _Maybe I mean now. Running away has turned out to be a lot better than I thought it would be. Even with the Spike part.  
_

Or maybe it was _because _of the Spike part. Maybe the sarcastic, quasi-evil, bleach-blonde vampire was one of the things she'd been thinking of. Sure, he could be annoying and rude as hell, but he could be nice too. There were worse vamps to be stuck with. Like, say, Angelus.

There he was again, haunting her. _Can I ever be rid of him _

Her thoughts could take short-lived vacations from him, but he was never far off in her mind. Buffy wondered why she was able to think about it all somewhat rationally. _How come I'm not more upset? I should be devastated. I should be drowning in sorrow, crawling into some cave somewhere to die, but I'm not. And was that black humor? Maybe it's not...white...humor, but any color of humor seems like for-the-better kind of thing.  
_

She rubbed shampoo into her bleached hair, and then rinsed her entire body off. _How come I'm not as upset as I should be. _

With her vampire hearing, Buffy probably could have heard the door click open, but she wasn't listening for it. Spike closed the door behind himself and it occurred to him that the Slayer was no longer on the bed. He dumped half of the candy on the bed and stuffed the rest into a pocket of the duster draped over one of the chairs. And that was his coat, by the way, and even if it was too long for his current body, he was going to wear it anyway. He was not letting the Slayer continue her use of his precious leather duster. He'd have to remember to yell at her about that later.

* * *

Spike sat down in the other chair and grabbed the advertisement triangle on the table for light reading. 

He was mesmerized by the artistic shot of the indoor/outdoor swimming pool. It shined and tantalized in all of its aquatic blue glory. Spike checked the pool's hours.

7:00 AM – 11:00 PM. He felt like he wanted to kiss whomever had switched his body with the Slayer's.

Buffy had packed a bright red bikini. Spike grinned. It was one of his colors. It was potentially sexy, too. He stripped off his clothes and put it on, the whole time in front of the mirror. He loved having a reflection again. Also, the whole watching-Buffy-change element had an erotic side to it anyway.

Spike snatched a towel from the bathroom and was out the door shortly before Buffy turned off the water.

The pool was completely empty. There was a shabby-looking old guy in the hot tub, but Spike had the entire deliciously wet pool to himself. He dove into the clear water and skimmed just above the bottom. He came up for breath at the orchid-covered island, and then slipped back into the water to pass into the outdoor section of the pool.

The midday sun felt wonderful against his skin. He recognized it as the first time in 100+ years he'd felt the warmth of the sun. He'd come close though. It didn't compare, but half of the golden warm, half of the bliss he felt now he also felt when he was around Buffy. _What a poncy, poetic notion, _he realized, but instead of disposing it he let it float around in his body. He would have like to dismiss the original realization and forget about it, but as it was already out there and he knew it to be true, he might as well let it be. Embarrassing as it was, Buffy brought out the terrible poet in him and he found himself wanting to try and fail to capture her essence on the page. He hadn't written a single poem since his first few months with Dru.

Spike used the side of the pool to lift himself up and then roughly throw himself backwards into the water. _You're evil,_ he firmly reminded himself. i_You're an evil bloodsucker in a temporary working relationship with the Slayer. _ He floated on his back. _ Not to mention she denies any relationship with you at all.  
_

With his internal lectures finished, Spike realized that the scruffy man had vacated the hot tub. Spike climbed out of the pool and walked over to the bubbling bath that he had all to himself.

He winced as the hot water scalded his pedicured feet, but soon he was able to slide into the hot tub and enjoy the sensation of bubbles pressing into his skin.

One jet stream blasted directly against his back. Shifting under its rough attention, Spike caused the water to shoot at places where it felt even better. _This could be fun, _he realized. He turned around, and allowed the water to pound full on between his legs. The touch of the jet wasn't as firm as fingers would be, and so its tickling was tantalizing.

Spike slid the bottom half of the bikini off, and the sensation increased tenfold. And then he heard the door open. Flustered, he hurriedly turned around and grabbed at where he'd put the bikini bottoms. Only...they weren't there. He sank lower into the bubbly water.

The young couple came over to the hot tub and joined Spike. They didn't seem too interested in talking to him, but they murmured to each other in German. Bloody tourists.

Several times Spike saw a flash of red spin past the couple before being sucked once more into the spinning water. i_Well, isn't this just dandy _Spike grumbled to himself. The Germans kept staring at him, and he wondered if they were able to discern more of his nakedness than he'd anticipated. _Buffy is going to _kill _me. She won't even care about the body-swap. She'll have murder first and foremost in her mind.  
_

Shockingly enough, the male German glanced at his waterproof watch and suddenly his relaxed expression became panic-stricken. He told his companion something and the two of them scrambled out of the tub.

"Bye," the male told Spike with a heavy accent.

"See ya," Spike replied, although he didn't have any particular desire to do so. Ever.

As they were leaving, Spike heard the gentleman again say something in English. "Thank you." _Maybe his honey took French in school, 'stead of English_, Spike reasoned. Too caught up in the shit he would be very deep in as soon as he ran into Buffy, he was startled when she spoke to him from halfway to the hot tub.

"Hey Spike," called Buffy cheerily. "Thought I'd join you."

"Lucky me," he replied sarcastically. He noticed what she was wearing, and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah." Pointing to the black Speedo that left little room for questions concerning the vampire's lower endowments, she explained, "I noticed you didn't have a swimsuit packed, so I had to buy one from the gift shop. Like it?" She slipped into the water.

Spike guiltily sank lower in the tub, letting the water fan his golden hair out around his shoulders. "'Least it's black."

"Gee, unthankful much?" Buffy realized she was smiling broadly – an activity in which, in her current state of suffocating depression, she should not be participating – and quickly transformed her face to neutral. The whole ordeal somehow reminded her of the shower she'd just taken, and despite not remembering what she'd been thinking about, this struck her as a not-good thing.

Spike smirked. "I'll give you bloody thanks, Slayer." Reaching out his foot, he brushed his toes over the skimpy fabric of the swimsuit. Buffy stiffened and clenched her jaw against a pleasure-filled groan.

She spat, "You are _so _ dust, Spike!" Buffy scooted out of reach of the offending limb and sank into the relaxing pounding of the water, sighing. "Any day now."

Something bright red spun around in the bubbles and plastered itself against Buffy's white chest. Spike winced.

Buffy peeled the bikini bottom from her skin and gave the vampire the iciest, most terrifying glare he'd ever seen.

* * *

Amelia rammed the brass knocker six times. Once to get attention, a second time to make sure the attention had been gotten, a third to initiate a sense of urgency, a fourth to spur the answerer on as they raced to the door, and twice more for good measure. 

However, no answerer came running. "Hello?" Amelia called. "Anyone home?"

She turned the handle and the door creaked open. Amelia walked inside and searched for a napping senior citizen or some other type of person who would fail to answer the door. "I'm with home insurance," she lied to the empty house, in case it wasn't empty.

The real estate agent wandered through every downstairs room and then climbed the stairs. If Amelia were the kind of person who watched movies for entertainment, she might have wondered if she'd stepped right into _Edward Scissor-hands_, but she was not that kind of person.

After the attic she searched the cellar. Upon opening the door, she could feel psychic energy radiating in waves. Stiffly she approached the center of the room. Amelia held out her palms and felt the air until she felt satisfied.

Then suddenly she pulled out an ornate dagger and sliced the air harshly. A thin stream of light traveled down the weapon and poured into the air, cutting a somewhat jagged slice.

Energy hit the real estate agent so forcefully she nearly stumbled off her work heels. Amelia wriggled her fingers inside the rip and pulled the two halves apart, spreading the tear into a chasm that crackled with electric-blue light. Amelia peered inside, frowned, and tried to widen the tear some more.

Only it would not budge. Amelia pulled with all her strength and could not produce any effect. Holding her palms out flat once more, she felt around the room but failed to find more hot spot. Something was wrong. For the sake of optimism, Amelia tried convincing herself that someone physically stronger might have more luck.

After staring at the chasm for another minute, Amelia stamped her stiletto angrily and left the room. She would find herself someone stronger. She doubted they would be able to open her chasm for her – she assumed there was some psychic disturbance blocking it – but if she intended to unblock it and to succeed in overcoming all other obstacles in her path, she would need the help of someone a bit physically stronger.

Really, it wasn't much of a pity. She knew all about sub-contracting, and besides, she had no problem with letting someone else do all the dirty work. After all, once things were all over, she would be able to kill whomever she'd found, and no one would be any the wiser.

Amelia was nothing if not determined.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. Also, to anyone who's read this story elsewhere, some plot things are different b/c this is a newer version of the story (not to mention a less sexually explicit one, but that doesn't have to do with plot) and I've been to lazy to update to the newer version on other sites, and I apologize. Anyway, next chapter is ready and will come soon, hopefully. :)  



	7. Against Nature

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Thanks for the lovely reviews, everyone, it's great to hear you like it:)

**

* * *

7: AGAINST NATURE**

* * *

"Hi, Mrs. Summers." Xander squeezed through the door, two large paper bags in tow. Willow followed and closed the door. 

"Xander. Willow."

Xander grinned. "We thought you might be a bit lonely."

"We came bearing snacks," added Willow, a little too cheerily.

Joyce smiled weakly, helping her daughter's friends set the take-out and desserts on the coffee table. "Thanks, you two." She nibbled on a sugar cookie. "Do you...Do you think she'll ever..."

"Of course she will." Xander nodded in agreement. "She didn't leave for good, she just...needed a break from her Sunnydale life, for a while.

* * *

"Just a quick slay," she pleaded. "I'll only be a few minutes." Spike pulled over 2 blocks from the McDonald's, leaving the motor running. 

"Make it fast, I'm hungry," he urged the girl occupying his body. "And Buffy, be...careful. Don't want you messin' up my body."

"God! Who are you, my mother?" She groaned, and closed the car door, strolling into the alley. A petite figure followed her, hugging the shadows.

Buffy approached the pair of vampires that was hunched over a body. _Human,_ Buffy's nose told her. She could hear a faint heartbeat. _Alive. _The female vamps were dressed in vinyl mini-skirts and Go-Go boots that just _screamed_ 60s.

"Hey," Buffy addressed the two, "Have you guys checked your calendars lately? It's 1998, by the way. You should think about picking up a magazine or two for fashion inspiration." Dealing a forceful kick to one vampire's stomach, Buffy sent the fashion nightmare flying off her tall shoes. She drove the stake into her adversary's heart.

Buffy approached the second vampire, who backed away. "Wh-what do you think you're doing, staking your own kind?"

"Hey – " The insulted Buffy suddenly realized she _was_ killing her own kind, having temporarily forgotten whose body she wore. _I'm a vampire. A male vampire, with a very large dick..._ Her mind took an unplanned vacation to the gutter before she hastily reminded herself that Spike was gross, and evil, and in no way sexy at all.

The remaining vampire screamed as she exploded into a pile of dust. Buffy switched her gaze to the burly male vampire who'd staked the 60s reject. He snarled at Buffy. "Gonna fight me? Or do you have to run home to your _boyfriend _?" The vamp spat scornfully.

"He's not my – _oh._" Buffy realized that her earlier fashion tips, coming from a male vampire like herself, had probably bestowed upon her a slightly different image than she'd intended. But that meant this vamp had been watching her...Which meant his agenda was something different from usual. Or that he was just smarter than usual.

Or that, like Spike's minions, he'd been ordered to watch her by his master vampire.

Buffy could hear the human's heartbeat wavering. And Spike honking the horn impatiently. She had to kill this guy fast.

Despite his bulk, he wasn't a very challenging adversary. _The opposite of Spike,_ Buffy thought absently. _I mean, Spike's smaller, but way deadlier..._ She resolved the struggle with several well-aimed kicks and a stake to the back. _Is "deadlier" a word?_ Then she raced back to the victim.

The dying teenage girl looked up at Buffy. "They...bit me..." she rasped, pointing to the two bite marks on her neck.

But Buffy already knew that – she could smell the youthful, sweet blood calling out to her. Her entire body throbbed with excitement over the thought of sinking her fangs into the soft skin and drinking...

But at the same time her entire chest seemed to be splitting in two. It reminded her of jumping into the swimming pool she'd had as a child, and feeling the icy winter water crash into her. _So wrong_, the cold water murmured, _so wrong..._

_So this is what having a soul is – was like for Angel._ It was still hard to remember that Angel was the same as Angelus, and that he was gone.

Buffy punched "9-1-1" into her cell phone. "Hello? Yes...I've found a young woman who is badly injured...Oh, I'm in an alley outside Safeway...Yeah, something is wrong with her neck, how did you - A lot, huh? Strange. Someone should look into that." _Someone being me._ "Is someone on the way? Good..."

She decided to wait with the girl, and comfort her until the paramedics arrived. Spike would be _so_ pissed, she would bet millions.

The pair of gold eyes that had been watching from the shadows ever since Buffy had first arrived on the scene continued to observe with interest.

"Interesting..." Amber murmured. She ran black-painted fingernails through her dyed-purple hair, skillfully messing it up. "Fucking weird, actually."

* * *

"What is your problem?" Buffy demanded as Spike rolled to a stop in front of her. "Weren't you supposed to be waiting for me?" 

"Weren't you supposed to be doing a 'quick slay'?"

Buffy slipped into the passenger seat. "There was a girl with neck trauma."

"How bloody unusual," he commented snidely. "Was she tasty?" He stepped on the gas pedal.

Buffy gave him a look, and then continued with her narrative. "Actually, it was kinda weird. I dusted one, but I didn't have a chance to do the other, because this other vamp got her first. But it's not like he's good, cos he tried to attack me when he definitely knew I was helping the girl. So, evil vamp dusts evil vamp. Why would he do that?"

Spike shook his head. He didn't understand it either; it seemed completely against a vampire's nature. But it was also against a vampire's nature to want to help the Slayer, and he feared he might be beginning to understand that move of his a bit too well. "At least you're not hurt," he told her, watching the street lamps whiz by.

* * *

Amber slammed the door and menacingly stormed through the house, the pounding of her combat boots causing her minions to become instantly occupied in some task or another. A small human girl hopped out from below the kitchen sink and surveyed the entryway. "Mama, she tracked mud all over the rug again." 

A tired-looking woman carried a broom across the kitchen and swept the dirt into her daughter's dustpan.

"Amber's mad, isn't –"

"You shouldn't call her that, _mi vida_."

The little girl pouted. "But she calls me Lilia, when she speaks to me. And she never seems to care what I call her." The mother turned a disapproving glare on her child. The creature who had taken over their house was a dangerous monster, and the fact that they were still alive was nothing short of a miracle from _Dios_.

Amber came back into the entryway, and put her shoes near the door. She stared at the new mud tracks, swept away by old memories of sunlight and mothers and mud on the floor, hugs and bedtime stories, all of them as elusive as the breeze from the wing of a butterfly. Then she tore herself from her reverie and sulkily turned on her heel, gold eyes glaring at the humans as if daring them to challenge her.

Amber stalked moodily down the hall. Why did this pair of humans bring out her wimpy, tender side? They were just like any other meal, only...not. She'd decided not to kill them when she took over their house, and on several occasions had protected them from her minions. No vampire did things like this. It was just against nature. And it put Amber in an even worse mood.

The second she stomped into the basement, the entire assembly of vampires became silent, waiting for their mistress to speak. Amber smiled with pleasure, letting the ridges on her forehead subside. "We heard rumors that Spike had helped the Slayer in Sunnydale, and he was spotted entering Los Angeles with her by the Switchblades' watchmen. Tonight there were plans to monitor him for more of this unusual behavior, and damn is unusual the word. I saw him stake two vamps.

"One had been feeding, and he called the police to help the victim. The second was Maurice, under my orders to kill any non-gang demons who noticed Spike." There was some sniggering, but the room was silent as the grave when Amber continued. "And I expect each one of you to take the exact same risk, as we want to keep the mystery among Revolvers only, until we've unraveled the cause of it.

"And seeing as we need answers, I think it might be time for me to pay our houseguest a little...visit." _This _statement was met with wild cheering and the basement buzzed with excitement. Amber climbed two flights of stairs and removed several heavy locks on an upstairs door.

The adolescent vampire kicked a sleeping figure, which moaned.

"Wake up, Drusilla."

Dru sat up and ran her hands over her hair slowly. "We'll have a party, when it's done. He'll come round, round, and we'll drink her –"

"And I'll bring the balloons," added Amber disdainfully. She punched Drusilla in the face. "Tell me what you know about Spike. Recent news, I mean. Why is he acting like he isn't a vampire? Why is he hanging with the Slayer, why is he slaying our kind...Assuming you even _count_ as 'my kind,' you ho-bag excuse for a vampire."

Dru cackled. "It's her...It's all her, and I did it! And my Spike will come home to Mummy when we're through..."

"Yeah? Great_...What did you do to him?"_ Amber hissed, twisting Dru's arm painfully. The teenage vampire was surprised by the strength of her anger. She guessed some things, like emotion or like memories, didn't fade over time. "He was the perfect evil, ya know? Like, any other vamp could only ever _dream_ of being almost as evil – " she kicked Drusilla in the stomach.

"Let me...persuade him," Drusilla said suggestively. "I'll talk, and I'll…I can show him bad again, I can -"

"_You haven't got a chance, little girl," Drusilla cackled. "You've got to be bad...And you're not bad enough."_

Amber threw Dru against the wall savagely. "You?" she asked with engineered calmness. Then her face hardened and her tone cut like steel. "_Never._"

_We'll see who's bad, Drusilla. Just you wait._

_

* * *

_


	8. Dealing

**

* * *

8: DEALING**

* * *

The full expanse of the room lay before them. Buffy's eyes were trained on the solitary bed. "That bed looks a little lonely, don't you think?" she chatted, feeling flustered at the thought of his naked body – even if it was hers, really – up against her under the sheets, his lips close enough to...

"I think it's managing fine on its own." He was smirking at her.

Extricating her would-be-pink-if-she-were-alive cheeks from the embarrassing situation, Buffy crossed the room and tossed the duster on the back of a chair and sat down in front of it. The motion seemed to suddenly remind Spike of something, and he came to stand behind her. "You know, pet, that nice piece of leather is mine."

"Well, your whole body is mine – uh..." she winced. "Anyway, I'm keeping the jacket."

Spike reached around her. "Yeah? We'll see about that..." Buffy relocated the duster to her other side, initiating a scuffle which caused her to find herself caged in by Spike's arms. She could hear his heart beating rapidly. His immediacy was suffocating (or would have been, had breathing been necessary), and all of her itched with the need to _do_ something...And his face... i _I really want to kiss him_/i it occurred to her. Without another thought, she brought her lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, as Buffy had thousands of inhibitions swimming in her consciousness. Spike, however, returned the kiss with a fervor that helped Buffy relax, and soon there was nothing in the room except Spike. Buffy pulled Spike against her, but found that the arm of the chair got in the way. She attempted to stand, but her feet became tangled in the base of the chair and caused the pair of them to stumble. Spike walked backwards, pulling her with him, and when the back of his legs hit the bed, he spun her around to sit and seated himself on her lap, his legs straddling hers.

Buffy's hand found the hem of Spike's shirt, and slid up inside. The whole concept of touching her body, but knowing Spike felt what she was doing, still seemed strange and was enough to distract her now and then, but his erratic breathing was more than enough to spur her onwards.

Spike felt the hook to his bra come undone, and as he shivered with pleasure a question surfaced in his brain: exactly how far did he want this to go? It was a terrible question that he wanted to ignore, because it led to even more confusing thoughts. He was aware that Buffy had just sent the man she loved to hell, and was most likely rebounding. The problem arose with his stand on the situation. An evil vampire would want to take advantage of the situation, without caring that her choice making might not be at its best. _Not to mention, _Spike realized,_ I can't suss out what a properly evil vampire would be takin' advantage of in the first place. 'S not like I'd be ravishing a gorgeous young Slayer. Buffy's wearing my skin ._ And again Spike found himself asking questions whose answers he was afraid to learn. What did he see in Buffy right now, apart from important in getting his own body back?

Spike had established long before that he was attracted to the Slayer's body. Lust was a perfectly evil, lechy thing. Being attracted to Buffy for more emotional reasons, however, was something much more troubling.

Spike pulled back, putting his manicured hands on Buffy's shoulders. She stared at him incredulously, hurt at first, but the emotion quickly melted into anger. "What are you –"

"You're on rebound, pet," he told her calmly, stroking the inside of her shoulders with his thumbs.

She shook off his touch. "What do you care? Aren't you supposed to be evil? You're not supposed to say 'Ehhh, you're rebounding,' you're supposed to be sneaking a way to get off! What is your deal?"

"Can we not do this now, luv? Jus'..." Buffy seemed over her burst of fire and ready to begin a sobbing stage. Spike pulled her against his chest, and scooted them to the head of the bed, pulling the covers over them, holding Buffy beside him comfortingly. He decided he'd just leave his feelings for Buffy and whatever amount of evilness they entailed as unanswered questions until the morning.

* * *

"Vampire gangs?"

The scaly gentleman nodded. "You got it. They're actually becoming quite a problemo. Vamps, you see, are violent demons, and many of 'em just kill for fun. Obviously they feed on humans, but sometimes they'll look for other demons to give 'em more of a chase. And they of course kill vamps from other gangs – rivalry is a _big_ issue."

Amelia nodded calmly. "Which gang, would you say, is perhaps the most dangerous?"

"Oh, it's hard to say. Death's Advocates can be hard to predict, but most of their plans are crap. They're rash and more or less morons. But I guess I'd have to pick the Revolvers."

"The Revolvers?"

"Sure. It's funny, they're pretty new and they've got a leader who's not only new in town, but also new to the ranks of the undead. But ma'am, they are _lethal_. Ruthless killing, and they make millions out of it. Not that they don't like mindless violence, mind you, but they also do the Mafia thing."

Amelia pulled out a notepad. "Do you know what the leader of the Revolvers is called?"

The demon laughed. "Any demon in Los Angeles knows her name. She goes by Amber."

* * *

Buffy woke up in Spike's arms. It was a strangely nice, new feeling for her, and it seemed like his warm body shielded her from having to be aware of the rest of the world just yet. She snuggled back into him, and caused him to laugh. Just then she realized he was awake. Probably he had been awake for quite a while, and he had been sniggering at various weird positions she'd made while asleep, knowing him.

"What time is it?"

"Four forty-seven," was the reply. Buffy's eyes practically bugged out. Had she slept the entire day away?

_Duh, _she chastised herself, _Do I _sleep _during the day? YES. _"Did you just sit there the whole time?" she asked incredulously.

"More or less. 'Cept I got up to pick up the room service twice, an' I rolled over to grab the remote for the telly." Buffy realized that the television was indeed on – some soap that she thought she'd seen her mom watch was on with the volume down low. So Spike was a soap opera fan. Some guys just never ceased to surprise you.

She sat up partially, leaning back against the pillows. "Do we have any blood in the room?"

Spike nodded. "It's cold. I would've warmed it up, but I wasn't too sure the puny room service bloke could carry up a microwave." Buffy smiled and let Spike bring her a plastic hotel-cup of blood.

After she'd finished her meal, Spike stood up and pulled on the duster. "Since you're awake now an' all, I'm thinkin' I'm gonna go out an' look for a shop where I can buy myself a few changes of clothes. Not that I wouldn't appreciate your fashion expertise, pet, but two seconds out of doors an' you'd be hardly distinguishable from a pile of fine sand."

"I'm still hung up on the part where you want a change of clothes. I thought you'd be used to wearing the same thing every day by now."

The vampire shot her one last smirk and went out the door.

* * *

Spike was in a bizarrely good mood. He continually had to check himself, having the inclination to do some poncy thing like hum, or walk down the halls grinning. He could still almost feel Buffy cuddling up against him. His good mood was so extreme that it seemed to cripple his Slayer senses; he didn't notice the vampire until she was only a few feet away.

"Spike..." he heard her say.

Spike gripped a stake in his hand. "There you are. Been lookin' for you, luv."

"Does Spike grow tired of the little Slayer?" she murmured into his ear, snaking her hands around his waist and downwards into his waistband. She smelled like sugary sweets.

"Ah-absolutely," he gasped as her hand pinched and stroked.

"Then you can be rid of her. You can be my Spike once more, and we'll kill her together." Her voice raced with excitement.

Spike chose his words carefully. "Yes, we could do that, Dru, but couldn't we just send her back to Sunnyhell? I mean, she's hardly an obstacle now that you're well –"

Dru contemplated Spike for several seconds, and then shrieked and threw him into a wall. "Get off me!" He fell and rolled a bit, landing in the late afternoon sun. Drusilla glared at him from the shade of the alley. "The awful Slayer's all in the way, isn't she, Spike? Don't fret, puppy, I can kill her on my own!"

Spike watched her disappear into the shadows. He remained a few more seconds on the ground, trying to catch his breath and to take in what had just happened. Then he stood up, and massaging his shoulder, he made his way back to the hotel, still quite confused.

* * *

She prowled through the aisles, with a silent and lethal grace. It might have taken a while to adapt to reanimated life, but she had grown into a skillful killer, hunting instincts honed. Even as she zeroed in on a target, all her senses were alert to the outside world. As she tracked down the last remaining size 2 camisole, Amber's vampire senses picked up something interesting. She was unsure what she'd first noticed – whether it had been his words, or simply the manner of his speech. Because she definitely was not hearing Spike's voice.

"...Couldn't we just send her back to Sunnyhell? I mean, she's hardly an obstacle now that you're well –"

Amber's brain clicked to all the possible scenarios. Dru had gotten out. Dru had been let out – no, Spike had hired someone to let Dru out, and his minion was imitating him as some form of identification. Or someone was impersonating Spike, for some other reason...

Amber heard the responding cry of distress. "The awful Slayer is all in the way, isn't she, Spike? Don't fret, puppy, I can kill her on my own!"

Or... Drusilla seemed fairly certain that she spoke to the genuine Spike. So Spike was in somebody else's body. Amber darted under the hanging clothing items and peeked out the window. A petite blonde human stared into the shadowy alleyway, and then walked off down the sidewalk, massaging a shoulder. The way she moved, Amber was even more sure that the blonde girl was Spike. Who had Spike turned into? Was the original owner of this body wandering around, maybe in Spike's body?

And of course, there was the issue of the Slayer. According to the insane garble that Drusilla had produced, the Slayer was very much alive and well, and possibly somewhere nearby. What did Drusilla know about the Slayer, and what did she know about Spike's predicament?

And, for that matter, how had Drusilla escaped so that she could roam the streets of LA?

* * *

"I'm still stuck on this one. You ran into your psycho girlfriend while it was still daytime?"

"Slayer, you're missin' the point. Dru knew it was me. In this body."

Buffy persisted. "Yeah, I got that. Weird. But why would she be out at such a flammable time of day? Most vamps kinda hang out in one place until the sun sets. I know she's a loony, but even Drusilla's got to have a reason for risking the chance of getting fried."

Spike shook his head, chuckling. The Slayer really was a bright one; there were worse people to have thwarted all your evil plans. "You think she's in trouble? Runnin' from somebody?"

"Possibly, although I'm still not sure why you think I'd care. Anyway, we should try to keep an eye out for anyone who seems like a force to be reckoned with. Maybe they're also involved with the vamp I ran into last night. And we should probably get to work on finding out exactly what was done to us. Dru seems to know, so maybe we can get something out of her."

Spike nodded unenthusiastically. He wasn't sure how soon he wanted to get his own body back. Entertaining aspects of operating the Slayer's body aside, switching back would give the two of them no real reason to be around each other. And even more so than when he'd first mentioned it, the former vamp suspected something real existed between himself and Buffy.

Spike was also aware of other consequences of switching back. He knew that he wouldn't be able to fit both Buffy and Drusilla into his afterlife, and that he would have to make a choice between them. Spike knew that the choice was obvious, and the fact that he even regarded it as a choice troubled him.

_Hungry lips tore at his, drowning him with intensity. Each motion of hers, each stroke of a hand on bare skin, had some indefinable significance... Need explored his mouth with its tongue, and the strength of the passion, rooted in ignoring the past, reeled him in and making each millisecond unforgettable to him, even if him only..._

There was just something about Buffy that he couldn't push out of his mind, and the thought of never seeing her again caused him a weighted, sinking feeling he instinctively wished to avoid. Just like he wanted to avoid the cause of that feeling, or the many enticing memories of his century with Drusilla.

At some point his afterlife had become extremely complicated.

"And now that Spikey is done with his inner monologue, he can listen? Cos Buffy's not done talking." She wasn't done talking, but she was at a bit of a loss for what she was going to say.

"So, Spike. Where do we stand? You know, you and me. In the us sense." Spike confused her to no end; his emotions seemed to run hot and cold in the same sentence.

Pushing the tangle of emotions away, he stared insolently at Buffy. "Just where we stood last time, Slayer. Will you admit there's something between us?"

It seemed Buffy was ready to admit something, because she approached Spike coyly. "Would it mean I'd get to keep kissing you?" she asked, her expression a pout of innocence and confusion. Innocent she was not, but the confusion was rooted in thousands of buds of thought, vaguely wondering why Spike cared so much, why she needed so desperately to be allowed to kiss him, why admitting a relationship of some sort didn't seem as high a hurdle as it probably should.

"Don't see why not," Spike replied, feigning apathy. He grabbed Buffy in his arms and devoured his lips, feeling strangely relieved. Buffy grinned into his lips; she didn't know why she did, but she couldn't help herself.

* * *

Amber knew her chances of catching Drusilla again were next to nonexistent, considering the head start the other vamp had, so the teen decided to go ahead and buy her shirt. She could order her minions to search for Dru. Or she could find another psychic who could be just as useful, if not more, than Drusilla. The first priority, obviously, was figuring out what had happened to change Spike. Maybe the crazy vamp was neither showing nor telling, but there was nothing saying she was the only person who knew anything.

Amber vamped out at the employee who barred her path and exited via the storage room's sewer access. Vamp shopping really beat the hell out of human shopping, when one factored in the endless store hours and the not-paying that one did. Amber was working herself up into an enthusiastic speech-delivering mood when she felt a small but very cold and instinctively terrifying breeze blow throughout her insides and she realized she'd walked right into a woman wielding a handheld cross. "What's your deal? I got things to do," she informed the obstacle while searching for the path of least resistance – hardly an escape – in her surroundings. Unfortunately, the cross-having lady had cornered her in a pocket of shade, and blocked the only path that didn't include UV rays.

Amelia smiled, but behind her horn-rimmed glasses her eyes stared coolly. "I'm sure they can wait. I happen to have a few words to exchange with you, and I have a feeling some of them might interest you. Especially the words that concern a certain vampire's escape."

Amber frowned. "You freed Drusilla."

"I assume you wanted something out of her? No worries – you will undoubtedly find her again...I was just curious as to where she would run off." Amelia smiled a small, contained smile.

The vamp sniggered. She knew full well that all she would get out of Dru would be nonsense and maybe a few fragments of sanity, but Drusilla could be dangerous. Such a loony could do anything to vent her anger, plus, the Slayer seemed to be in LA, and Amber knew a Slayer spelled all kinds of trouble. If Dru spread the news, the Revolver's rival gangs could easily point the demon killing machine in Amber's direction. Drusilla was most likely not a useful ally, but she was definitely a formidable foe.

_Not to mention,_ thought the vamp with disappointment, _Now I won't get to torture her._

"And it happened that where she ran was particularly interesting...It seems that two newcomers to this town are personally acquainted with Drusilla."

"Yeah, Spike and –" Amelia nodded intelligently, clearly listening to the specifics. Angry at having stupidly aided the annoying woman with a cross and ugly glasses, Amber burst out, "Fuck, woman! Why the hell would I want to help you?"

Amelia smiled. "Needing motivation? To put it simply, losing Drusilla is hardly the worst thing that could happen to you. Does...what was it, now...'Chosen One' mean anything to you?" She was enormously glad that the demon she'd made a deal with had pointed her in the right direction several times, not to mention given her valuable information about demon life.

"You're fucking threatening me!"

Amelia clucked her tongue twice. "Possibly. I'm just ensuring that I have your attention."

Amber crossed her arms. "Bitch," she growled.

Amelia began with the air of a presenter who has carefully prepared and rehearsed her speech. "Apparently you've attained a reputation as a formidable gang leader. People talk of your intelligence, and your ingenuity when it comes to battle." Amber snorted. "I myself have little prowess when it comes to combat strategies, and I have less than a tenth of your physical strength. I could use someone like you, an intelligent girl who knows the ins and outs of...shall we say, the demon world. However, I am faced with a situation. I am barred obtaining something I very much want by a psychic disturbance in this area. I lack the power to do anything about it, and I have a feeling you can help me."

"Probably can," Amber drawled, "But I'm not thinking it's especially likely that I will."

"Oh, I think you will. You will not be without rewards – there will be, of course, a monetary compensation for your trouble, and...A pair of powerful individuals is involved in this psychic disturbance: a relatively famous Slayer-slaying vampire, and the Vampire Slayer herself. Once you have helped me eliminate their interference with my ambitions, I leave both of them entirely to you, to do with as you please. I hear that Slayer's blood can work marvels for the strength of a vampire, and also fetch an amazing price on the black market."

Amber pondered the situation. This deal did sound like it would demand some difficult work, but the gain might just be worth it. Vampire, Slayer of Slayers – that had to mean Spike. And to have the Vampire Slayer in her hands...Amber still wasn't sure what the small blonde girl had to do with anything, but she had a score to settle with the Slayer, and once that was through Amelia's suggestion sounded like something worth trying.

"Hey, lady. I think you've got a deal.

* * *


	9. Understated

**

* * *

9: UNDERSTATED

* * *

**

Buffy prowled the street like a hunter. Around her, she detected both humans and other vampires. Every now and then a particularly edible human walked past her on the populated LA sidewalk, and since she hadn't eaten anything for several hours Buffy definitely considered taking a bite.

Only every time she considered it too hard, she imagined the scream and the struggling. She remembered the faces of terror on every vamp victim she'd ever saved, and she felt wretched for contemplating feeding.

She was a vampire with a soul, and she was feeling it.

An elderly black man tripped over his shoelace and dropped his tall stack of cardboard boxes. "Oh, darn it," Buffy heard him mutter to himself. She quickly wove through the crowds and stacked several boxes in her arms.

"Here, let me help you."

The man squinted through his glasses. "You're a good kid," he commented. "Most of the young 'ins today wouldn't lift a finguh..." He looked over the top of the glasses and frowned. "Though the young 'ins mighta been differnt in your day, if I'm not...mistaken."

Buffy frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I've seen many a thing ovuh the years; running inta vampire's hardly goin' tuh s'prise me. The name's Brown."

"I'm Spike." Buffy shook her head. "Let's just get these boxes somewhere." The man gestured toward the closest shop, which had a green awning which read, in peeling white paint, "BROWN'S." Taped to the window was a sign that said, "Brown's books and supplies. Store hours: 7 AM – 9 PM." Buffy entered Brown's with the stack of boxes, and instantly smelled the mixed aroma of scented candles and herbs. The room was filled with with animal parts in jars, strange, ancient weapons, and various stones and gems and other trinkets. Lining the walls, reaching from floor to ceiling, were so many books that Giles would have been ecstatic.

"This...this is a magic shop!" Buffy exclaimed. The old man's eyes twinkled.

He led Buffy through several aisles to the back of the shop. "Hungry?" he asked, grabbing a jar of a red substance from the refrigerator.

"Thanks. Why are you helping me?" Buffy unscrewed the lid and sipped the liquid. "How do you know I'm not going to kill you?"

"Because I'm not evil." Buffy felt that this explanation was lacking a whole lot of logic. _Vampire equals killer, usually of innocent people _she believed. "Your soul would scream for years."

_Whoa, back up._ "You know I have a soul?"

The old man laughed amiably. "Might as well go intuh the family histry." He removed his glasses, and stopped squinting. It seemed that the lenses decreased his range of vision instead of increasing it. "I'm a halfie. Ma was human, but my Pa wasn't. He was a demon. I guess I picked up on some of his skills. I can look intuh those pretty eyes of yours, and see de soul..." He frowned, staring even more intently. "This ain't your natural body?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, it's...someone else's. And he's got mine. So, I'm actually Buffy Summers."

The old man stared blankly for a moment, and Buffy got the impression that he was looking past everything in the room and seeing something else entirely. Cryptically, the old man muttered, "Dat's one lucky guy." Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow, ready to inform the man of Spike's lucky history of getting beat up, but the man continued without noticing. "So I 'spose you two'd be looking for a way to reverse the charm."

"You know how to help us?"

He shook his head. "I haven't the slightest," he admitted apologetically. "What I have got, are a bunch of old books and scrolls, and the remains of what used to be some pretty good smarts. If you and your friend would like to try to find the answer in any of my books, even my personal collection, which I keep upstairs in my living quarters, you're welcome to -" he looked at her with twinkling eyes - "come on in, and I'll help you if I can."

Buffy smiled. "We're really grateful...Or I am. He'll probably just be snarky."

The man chuckled, and the noise resembled a toad gasping for air. He was strange and definitely not charismatic, but he seemed to want to help. "Here's my card. It has the shop's address and phone number."

"Thanks." Buffy looked at the Celtic-styled printing. ANTON BROWN, MAGIC SHOP. BOOKS, HERBS, ARTIFACTS, AND CANDLES. As she returned to the hotel, she decided she liked Mr. Brown. She just hoped she could bribe Spike into somehow being civil.

* * *

"Whoa, Spike. What's -" The second she entered their room he pounced her, pressing her into the wall with his kisses. Then he pulled back and looked at her. She smiled in confusion. "Why did you..."

"Just felt like it, is all." Buffy laughed and kissed him again. Kiss after kiss, their tongues plundering each other's mouths, excitement building in each of them. Buffy shoved her hips against Spike's, her hardness all too apparent.

Spike ground against her and then grabbed her hips forcefully, guiding her to the bed. "Hey, Slayer...I think I got myself an idea."

She nipped at his neck with blunt, human teeth. "I think I'm liking it." He pushed her down on her back, kneeling over her and running his hands over her muscular, male chest. "What do I need to do?" she asked nervously. Angel hadn't done anything remotely similar to what Spike was doing now...

"Just lay back and let me work my magic," he drawled. The words sent tingles through Buffy's body, and she imagined him saying the same thing in his own face, wearing that sexy smirk...

_Magic._

Suddenly she remembered what she'd been planning on telling the former vampire. "Magic shop! I found this guy who has a magic shop, and books, and said he'll help us!"

Spike chuckled, and Buffy realized how much of a mood-spoiler she'd just blurted out. "You have got the worst possible timing I've ever seen, pet," he told her, grinning.

"Yeah." Buffy was again reminded of how inexperienced she was in this field. _He's probably expecting me to have at least some clue at what I'm doing..._

He was messing with the fly of her jeans. There was a soft pop and the sound of a zipper being unzipped. Suddenly things seemed a lot more spacious in the downward direction...And suddenly he grabbed her, squeezing gently. The thought that he was dangerous never crossed her mind.

It was weird, seeing herself do this. Seeing herself in general was weird – her nose was a funnier shape than she'd thought, her abdomen a little bit rounder than she'd like, and she could see that something wasn't quite right about her arms. Maybe they were a little fat, or maybe just a little too muscular to be delicate and feminine...

He leaned down, and his mouth got awfully close to…

Suddenly she burst out, "Spike, what are you doing?"

"Blow job, pet. You must have heard of these - maybe even done a few of 'em in your time."

Of course Buffy had heard of blow jobs, but why was he...And how quite had it happened, without her noticing, and it felt good but she and Angel had never...God, it felt...She was so completely out of her league. "Spike, wait, what are we doing? -And I don't mean blow job," she pre-empted his ready response, "I mean...I haven't thought about this, not really, about what I'd...I don't know..."

He groaned. She had to think of this now? "Oh, come _on,_ Buffy. It's just sex. Not even -"

"Right, sex," she went on, steadily approaching hysteria, "Which I've only ever had _once._ With Angel, and then he ditched me while I was sleeping, and went and turned evil!"

Spike changed his position from kneeling over her to sitting beside her. "Luv, I didn't leave this morning did I? An' I'm already evil, so turning bad won't be a problem."

Buffy made a little sound of anger, obviously offended. Sitting up, she zipped up her jeans. "That has to be i _the lamest_ /i sales pitch I have ever heard! Are you trying to sell me on how I should fuck you because you don't have a soul to loose!"

"Well, you've hit on a good point there, but - Buffy, no, it's not like that -"

"Yeah? What is it like, then? You love me? You're in love with the hot, sexy Slayer, is that it?"

Buffy's question pointed in directions Spike firmly did not want to go. There was nothing, no feeling, between them; had she forgotten? "Bloody HELL, no!" was his exclamation as he took a few steps back.

He saw the anger surface in her face, saw her cheekbones suck in. Fuck, why was everything he said or did wrong in this woman's eyes? "Drusilla was never this much trouble!"

The bomb had dropped. Buffy watched Spike, almost blankly.

_She realizes she's in their hotel room.  
Her room with Spike. _

Oh, God, last night. I threw myself and him, and then...

"You're rebounding..."  
His arms around her...  
"Shh, Buffy, it'll be alright. Not yet, but it'll be alright."

He really was a gentleman last night...  
The whole time, really...

Hot lips, against hers...  
Not even his at all, but it hardly mattered...No matter how you looked at it, it was the two of them...

I woke up, and he was there...I didn't think he would be...

The arm around her, the body beside her...Hardly the same as Angel's empty sheets...She was something, in his eyes, she had to be...

Why else would he spend his time with me, I thought...But Drusilla...

"Oh, come on,_ Buffy. It's just sex..." _

Never this much trouble... Infinitely better, in his eyes...

She watched him through blue eyes that were not, in any way, hers. Her face was so much blanker when she was the one pondering behind it, because he could hardly hide the fact that he was thinking about something complex...

_Dru _is_ easier to handle, but she isn't the thrill Buffy is. Working things out with Dru is easy - hell, we don't work things out, just scream and torture and shag. _

Working together with Buffy isn't fun and games, but somehow...When we do solve something -

"I'm taking a walk." The door closed, more loudly than necessary.

"Slayer! Get back in here -" Spike growled, and threw the television remote into the wall. Small plastic shards fell and hid themselves in the shag of the carpet. Spike figured he would have to wipe them up, or someone, like the Slayer, could step on the hidden pieces without knowing they were there.

It was becoming more and more clear that he had a choice to make. Drusilla and Buffy were immensely different, and implied a drastic change in lifestyle...His equivocation threatened him, and he knew he'd have to choose soon.

Actually he'd already decided; the choice was obvious. Drusilla was his soul mate and he loved her. They'd been together for more than a century. There shouldn't even have _been_ a choice.

But somehow there was. He had no idea what had just happened between himself and the Slayer, and now she'd left...

It reminded him of their first fight, of how that golden hair and that beautiful, tight body didn't seem to mix with words like "stake," and "Slayer," of how her smile, even on his face, made every answer to every question wrong but somehow worth the risk anyway.

He slumped backwards and banged the back of his head against the wall. "Ow - _bloody_ hell!" He leaned back more carefully and waited, clutching his throbbing head.

* * *

It wasn't until the following evening that Buffy became polysyllabic again. Polysyllabic, not talkative. But Spike refused to apologize, so their communication made little progress. He wanted to give up and return to the love of his unlife, his Dark Princess, but if nothing else, Buffy was necessary in getting his own body back.

Finally, as they were heading out for patrol ("they" being due to the fact that Spike had followed her, despite not having asked and not having been welcome), Buffy realized she couldn't handle the tension any longer.

"Do you wish you were back with her?"

He blinked. "With who?"

"Drusilla. Do you miss her?"

"Miss Dru? 'Course I do," he said, assuring all who heard. Wish to be with her? Sometimes. Surprisingly less than all the time.

Buffy watched the pavement beneath her feet. "Was she good at sex?"

"Yeah, she was quite the -" Spike nodded slowly with sudden understanding. "So _that's_ what's bothering you. Pet...the only thing that's easier about her is how she's less...righteous, I suppose. Doesn't make a fuss 'bout doing what's right an' proper."

Buffy shoved a stake into a vampire with all the force she owned. She glared at it with determination and purpose. Spike enjoyed these things in the way she fought...and talked...and pretty much everything else about her. It had been terrible to see her without her usual vibrancy of life, after Angelus...That had been part of why he'd helped her, Spike realized.

But only part. Part of it was that, and part of it was his attraction to her...And part of it wasn't either thing. After a moment of theorizing, Spike safely decided he didn't understand his choice and he'd leave it at that.

"Yeah," Buffy was saying. "That's because she doesn't have a soul. You don't make choices if you don't have a soul, you just follow your instincts. Kind of like animals."

Animals, she said? That was bull - he loved Dru, and love was a very human emotion...And he was positive he made choices. Hadn't he decided to save her ass? He stared at Buffy incredulously; in shock about the factually casual way she presented her thoughts. As if it were always true, as if she just accepted it since no one could do anything about it.

"That's a pretty high horse you're on, _vampire_. Hope you don't fall off," he retorted.

Buffy snorted. "What's _that _supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't have a soul either."

"You're just _loving _this, aren't you? The chance to laugh snidely at me?" She glared murderously. "Well, you're wrong, I _do_ have a soul! Where would it go, if not with me? _You _didn't get it, obviously."

Spike kicked a garbage bin into the street for emphasis. "Soddin' - What was I _THINKING_, helping you out?

"You know? That's it. I don't need to take this from you. If you don't want to work with me, then I'll reverse this spell myself, and take care -"

"Slayer," he said with brittle calmness, "this is _not_ about me working with you. This is about you, _just you_. If you can't learn to treat me like a real person, with feelings, if you can't - " He closed his eyes in frustration glanced wistfully into the distance.

His words seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the side street.

"Then no kind of partnership between us is going to work."

* * *


	10. Degenerate

**

* * *

10: DEGENERATE **

* * *

"If you can't learn to treat me like a real person, with feelings, if you can't... 

"Then no kind of partnership between us is going to work."

She'd felt like protesting that Spike the Soulless _didn't _have feelings, but she knew it wasn't true. He had feelings, and she'd obviously just hurt them.

It was disconcerting how she could do that without realizing.

She watched his back as it moved steadily down the sidewalk. _Why do I care so much?_ she asked herself. _It's just Spike.  
_  
But it had been just Spike who had helped her with Angel, just Spike who had driven her to LA and stayed with her, kept her caring about living. Just Spike, who was behaving so out of character, who was turning out to be so much more of a person that she'd initially thought.

It wasn't that she liked him or cared anything about his feelings in any other instance. It was morality, the idea that her treatment of him earlier had been wrong. He'd deserved more, and Buffy felt self-disgust gnawing at her, threatening her if she failed to apologize.

* * *

"Tonight," the vampire told a room of fellow minions. "The plan goes into motion tonight." 

A cell phone rang, and black fingernails unclipped it from the leather waistband of a plaid skirt. "Tonight, Amber," the real estate agent's sharp voice pronounced. "You said I'd get results tonight."

"No, I said there would _be_ results tonight. Didn't mention you getting 'em."

"I need the vampire and the Slayer. I want results, soon."

There was a pause while the rebel resisted complying. "Sorry, didn't year 'ya. Bad reception." Amelia could imagine the vamp smirking.

"You better get your results tonight. Because I want mine tomorrow morning."

* * *

After an hour of waiting, Buffy discovered that life was quieter without Spike. It was more peaceful, definitely, but in a suffocatingly quiet way. Time moved more slowly - uncountable seconds stretched onwards. 

It was boring.

Buffy tried to imagine how she'd phrase an apology, but she knew apologizing was not her forte. Even when she acknowledged that she was wrong, she couldn't bring herself to admit it face to face. _He's so...crude, and...Spike-like..._

"Hey." The voice came from behind her, and its owner didn't smell human to Buffy's vampire nose. "Spike! Long time no see, huh?"

Buffy agreed with a noncommittal shrug. "Uh, does - Do I...know you?" she inquired cautiously.

The vamp grinned sinisterly. "Spike does. And believe me, you're gonna...Buffy." Pleasure danced in Amber's excited eyes as she pulled the trigger of the stun gun. "I suspect you'll know me pretty well after the next few..."

The body slumped over. Amber shrugged mid-sentence and motioned for a minion to pick up the unconscious vampire in front of her. "Whatever. Let's just get her to the house before she wakes up."

The minion blinked. "This one looks male to me, Mistress." At her glare, he stuttered, "Just sayin'..."

"That Real Estate Slutswoman said to get her the vampire named Spike. I know that Spike's in some chic's body, cos I've seen it. I'm guessing that she's in his. And I figure, if Spike and the Slayer are working together, this girl must be part of the party, too, which means the Vampire Slayer will come looking for her. I figure that Spike and this Buffy girl must have some kind of deal since they've been sticking together, so if we've got the the girl..." Amber left the obvious conclusion dangling.

The minion smirked and nodded slowly, attempting to feign comprehension.

Amber didn't care about her minion's obvious lack of brains. He was mainly muscle, anyway. She was much more concerned with the questions she might be able to answer very soon. If she had the girl, then soon she could expect to have Spike and the Slayer.

Why had Spike and Buffy switched, and what about the switch made it to Amelia? And why was Spike so different from the Spike she'd known?

There had to be reasons, and it was likely they were all lined up and ready to be discovered. Amber noticed a young woman crossing the street alone, but decided to let her go another day without dying. The vamp was feeling generous - her week had just gotten immensely better.

_

* * *

_

_At first Buffy hadn't known where she'd been._

_Then the walls, and the lockers, and the students had made her realize that she'd finally returned to Sunnydale High. She searched the faces of the crowds for her friends, still wondering what she was doing back home..._

_"Oh my - What are you doing here?" The Slayer looked at Cordelia's expression of revulsion and fear._

_"You're back?"_

_"Xander," Buffy replied, bewildered, "Of course I'm -" Xander shook his head disbelievingly and melted into the chaos -_

_Principal Snyder walked by dressed like a Burger King whopper, and shook his finger at her. "Funny, I thought I kicked you out. Oh, to think I'll get to do it again...I think I'm tingly!"_

_The background noise grew, doubling and complicating and replicating...She thought she heard someone hiss frantically, "Someone get Buffy!"_

_But guys, she tried to say, I'm right here - but her voice made no sound no matter how loudly she screamed. She became dimly aware that she wasn't herself, but taller, deader, blonder, and male..._

_She was standing in front of herself, lethal and angry. "I told you never to come back, Spike. No one wants you._

_"You love me, is that it?" the Buffy was shouting. Somehow the scenery had changed, the voices died away, but the hazel eyes were still as dangerous as ever and Buffy couldn't look away. "You have a _thing _for the Vampire slayer? That's gross, and obscene, and I said to leave Sunnydale, and never come back. Never..." _

Buffy awoke groggily. A pain tickled her chest... _"Never come back..." said hazel eyes..._ She realized blood was dripping down her chest from an artistically jagged cut. "Thought that might wake you up," drawled the gleeful, purple-haired goddess of nightmares.

* * *

Spike stalked angrily through the grave markers, not allowing himself to feel embarrassment about his escape. 

His escape from _her_. She was insanity, she was repose, she was torment. She was so unbelievably frustrating, with her insecurities and her prejudices. Spike sat down on a headstone and pulled black nail polish out of his pocket. Painting his nails had often had a calming effect on him.

He wondered what he expected from her. He knew there was something, because he was always ending up disappointed.

It was so much easier to be evil. He considered returning to Dru, where foreplay didn't make his lover cry...

And somehow just considering shagging someone else felt like cheating on Buffy. Spike didn't know when it had happened, but at some point the Slayer had crossed from being a sexy enemy to being...something else.

Some time in the past 72 hours they'd spent side by side, he'd started caring, more than usual. He cared more than any normal vampire could care about the Slayer. What was she to him? Were they friends?

Could emotions shift so quickly? Spike thought of Buffy and Angel, and the comparison engendered a new, terrible realization. He tried to think of anything that could disprove the notion, but the longer he thought about it the more true it seemed.

What if he _was_ in love with the Vampire Slayer?

It was everything impossible. A vampire and a Slayer were mortal enemies, destined to constantly battle for all of time...This was the sexy, deadly, lovely Slayer, one whom he'd failed to kill time and time again -

His theory seemed inescapably, terrifyingly impossible to disprove. All evidence pointed towards his devotion. He'd refused Drusilla, for Buffy.

But Dru...he loved his Dark Princess more than anything. Drusilla was his love of a century, his Sire, his history, his everything...

_No,_ he concluded with relief, making his statement stubbornly simple. _I don't love the Slayer as much as I love Dru. I only love her a little bit, which is fine. _After several minutes of explaining his emotions to himself, Spike was convinced that while he was in love with Buffy, _sort of_ it was really a lot more like a crush. A crush, he could handle.

His spirits were light due to erasing the confusion from his mind. _Slayer'll come round,_ he told himself as he paid the rent for the night. He would have bet money on her showing up in an hour or so, ready to reach an understanding. The understanding, he thought with a smirk and a wave of arousal, would most likely give the maid some considerable work to do in the morning, making the bed. _Slayer'll come round, and then we'll have some fun._

* * *

Buffy shifted away from Amber's small, child-like hands, and winced at the pain the motion brought her chest. "Bitch," she growled. 

Amber clapped her hand in front of her mouth. "Oh, what language!" she exclaimed with apparent horror.

"So what's the lame plan this time?" Buffy ground out.

"I want Spike. I don't know his new look too well, so you're gonna help me out. You're gonna bring him to me."

* * *


	11. Ambivalent

**

* * *

11: AMBIVALENT**

* * *

The room felt empty.

Spike scanned the space and his eyes fell upon a short vampire with a mousy look to him. "You won't find the Slayer in time, " the vamp drawled smugly, and proceeded to scratch behind his ear.

"She's not here?"

"Obviously not," he drew out slowly, making Spike want to dust him right then and there. "You know, you really should have considered renting an apartment. A room like this...anyone can come in and take your...stuff."

Spike glared, hazel eyes flashing. "How do you feel 'bout gettin' smashed into a bloody pulp?"

The vampire's demeanor changed suddenly and drastically. "Not too keen on it," was the hurried reply.

"Then you'll tell me where the Slayer is," Spike hissed forcefully. The vamp's mouth quivered.

Spike slammed his opponent against the wall and held him a few inches above the carpet.

"Where is she?"

"U-underground, under the House...In Revolver territory..." he hacked several theatrical coughs. "Would you mind letting me - Amber's got her," the man squeaked.

Spike squeezed harder, and procured a stake from the pocket of Buffy's coat. "How can I find this Amber bird?"

"You-your girlfriend knows the place! Drusilla!"

Spike shoved the stake into the vampire's chest and rushed out the door.

* * *

"So, Preppy." A glare, and then, "Oh, come on, _Buffy. _What were your parents thinking? Anyway, y'mind telling me how you and Spike got your bodies all mixed up?"

Buffy moved her knight to a different chess square and took out one of the naked pawns. "We've been over this, and yes, I do mind. But for the record: don't know, don't care."

"Checkmate." Amber's nude queen had found its way near Buffy's cornered, inaccurately proportioned king.

"Fuck off." At first glance, Amber really wasn't all that bad. Of course, at second glance, one noticed the kidnapping, the slicing of the chest, and the general evil vampire-ness... Either that or Buffy had lost her marbles so completely that she would never find them ever again.

Amber leaned back in her chair, playing with her purple hair. "What happened right before you switched? Did you do anything?"

A frustrated Buffy shifted around in her chair, unable to find and position that was comfortable. "No, not really...We just went and got food, and then on the way back to the car...We were there, the sky flashed - we switched. All at once, like that. Nothing happened really."

"Hmm. Weird," Amber said just as the phone rang. She listened for less than a minute before staring at it angrily. "Bitch," she muttered as she tossed the phone onto an armchair. "C'mon, Preppy. We're moving. And I'm tying you up."

Buffy looked around the room, but there were minions anywhere. Resisting would have little or no effect, she realized, and allowed the teenager to bind her arms.

"Spike's kind of a hottie, isn't he. Ever thought about...?"

Buffy would have blushed. "I, um...Well sometimes, when we're kissing, I get all – I mean, his..."

"You kiss him?" Amber's hands froze in the middle of tying a knot.

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it's probably part of being stuck – "

"Are you...together?" She made it sound like a thoroughly repulsive prospect.

Buffy frowned. "Yeugh! Of course we're not...Unless you meant _sleeping _together – not that we're doing that either, but...I just didn't...realize that you might..." she rambled, flustered.

Amber looked at the single she'd tied, staring at it venomously. Then she furiously added a few more knots, securing it in place, and pushed Buffy roughly out the door.

* * *

There were 106 candy shops in Los Angeles, and very possibly several hundred more stores that sold sweets in addition to their primary product line. Twelve of them were in the same general area as the hotel.

Spike ran a hand through his blonde hair tensely, and then suddenly slammed his fist into the side of a building. He didn't even know if a candy shop was the right place to look, and every second he spent looking, or worrying, or even standing still considering his next action, was a second wasted.

Drusilla had smelled like candy. That was the only clue he had, the one fact he was gambling with, because it was his best shot at finding her.

A group of children giggled as they walked down the street. Spike wanted to wring their necks, hurl them into the wall, and then maybe sink his fangs into their soft, young skin, and for a second he wondered why he wasn't doing so.

It was all the Slayer's fault, everything he was feeling right now. If she hadn't gone and switched bodies with him, he would be off shagging Drusilla somewhere, instead of standing in an alley, feeling so frustrated and helpless as he actually did. Somehow Buffy had made him care for her, and he wanted to kill her for it.

The kids all entered a shop of some sort, giggling as irritatingly as ever. The smell of sugar and of various artificial flavors wafted out through the door and even Spike's human nose detected them.

Candy shop. He looked more carefully at the store front, and in addition to large, caramelized letters SWEET SHOPPE, was the pink writing painted on the window. "CHILDREN'S DISCOUNT." It made sense that Drusilla might adopt this store as her temporary residence, as she liked the taste of children, and since she even had a soft spot, Spike remembered, for human candy. He left the alley and followed the children into the Sweet Shoppe.

Upon entering the store (which, Spike noticed with twisted amusement, bore a "We're open, come on in!" sign on its door), Spike noticed a tingly sensation that spread through his body and made him want to be more cautious of his surroundings. There were no employees in the Sweet Shoppe, or at least no living ones. Slumped over the counter lay the corpse of the sales clerk, and several smaller bodies littered the floor, bite marks in their necks.

A child screamed and ran for the door. Two more followed, but the third was swept up into a woman's arms, the girl's cry of terror cut short. She looked around wildly, and then settled her panicking gaze on Spike.

"Evenin', Dru. Trust you had a bite to eat since we last talked," Spike drawled.

"Me an' the fat man an' Miss Edith, we had a nice party," Drusilla said excitedly. "You should have been there." She looked at him sadly, her last comment projecting disappointment.

Spike grit his teeth, his forbearance running thin. "I'm sure, pet. Now let's make up for lost time, and go to this bloody House."

Drusilla blinked. "Why are you all cross with me?" she asked languidly.

"Dru? Remember when you were captured? Remember the bird who tied you up? I want to get to her place. Let's go, now."

Drusilla took several steps to follow him out the door, and then looked at the child in her arms. "Can I bring the baby?"

"Leave the girl!" Spike shouted angrily, and Drusilla set the child down gently and hurried after the Slayer.

Spike scrutinized the picture-perfect house in front of them. "And you're positive this is the right house?" he asked the vampire, watching Lilia and her mother wash dishes in the kitchen.

"Pretty on the outside," Drusilla explained, "But inside the depths, it's deliciously horrid." She made a gleeful face at the basement access door.

Understanding blossomed in Spike, who replied "Sure it is, Dru," and headed towards the door. The two women walked silently down the steps and entered a large room, furnished with sofas, pillows, a stereo, a television set, and a large assortment of chains and knives and torture instruments.

"Slayer?" He wandered up the steps that led into the house, frowning. "Bugger, what's her name...Amber? Anyone here?"

"He comes a calling, but someone's called first, and no one's home anymore," Dru sang, dancing to herself. Upstairs she could hear Spike's voice, calling out the Slayer's name.

* * *

"And you're sure?"

"Absolutely, Miss Reinhardt. The visions I receive, while in a state of trance, are never incorrect. 100 guarantee."

"So you say. Now, here's a situation for you: my informant will arrive shortly with someone she has found, someone who fits the descriptions you gave me last week, answering my request for identification of the two individuals I myself sensed. My informant seems to think it possible that this vampire could be emitting a large amount of energy. I do hope that you have as much confidence as I do in the fact that the man she has found using your descriptions is the correct creature."

The mage nodded, smiling as confidently as he could manage. He wished Amelia had never found him, because every conversation they had made his position more dangerous. The more lies he told, the more were necessary – it was extremely lucky that he remembered the subjects of the spell he'd worked for Drusilla quite well, because in fact he never had any visions at all and would have been hard pressed to produce the correct solution to Amelia's problem.

"I desperately hope that, between the two of us, we will be able to deduce what about the two people you detected, the Slayer and the vampire, causes so much energy to be released that it interferes with other spells being performed."

The mage readily and obsequiously made his agreement known. "And of course, Miss Reinhardt, although I have no concrete idea as to what causes them to release such energy, I have one possible theory." He paused, selecting his words carefully. "I have heard that body swap spells can, occasionally, produce large amounts of by-product energy..." He hoped he could safely pave the grounds ahead of them.

"Body swap?" repeated Amelia, testing out the idea and not seeming overly enthusiastic about it.

The doorbell rang, and it echoed in the large, empty house. Amelia carefully pushed herself out of her chair and briskly approached the door. "How nice to see you, eight minutes later than expected," she said stiffly.

Amber growled and waited for an invite.

"What are you waiting for? I can't tolerate time-wasters." She smiled briefly and coldly and crossed tot he other end of the room. Amber pushed Buffy through the doorway, then followed herself.

"The owners are dead," said Buffy with disgust to Amber, knowing full well that they should have both needed to be invited. "Did you kill them?"

Amber grinned; Buffy scrunched up her face and said "Ugh!" with a pronounced feeling.

"Amber," reprimanded Amelia, "Now is not the time to be flirting with your captive. If you don't mind, would you focus on your job and haul his ass over here?"

Amber grumbled that she would mind, but she dragged Buffy into the next room regardless.

"It seems that your captive must be the subject of some sort of spell, to command the power he does." Amelia paused for effect, but Amber jumped at the opportunity to speak.

"Could be. But seriously, let's get a move on. I got things to do"

Amelia informed the vampire that her silence would be much appreciated, and although Amber made speedy use of her middle finger in announcing her opinion, the vampire's lips remained pressed together angrily. "Amber, place your captive in the center of the pentagram on the floor," instructed Amelia.

Wrists tied behind her back, Buffy was shoved to the ground.

Amelia removed her business-suit jacket and carefully laid it across the arm of a chair. Amelia closed her eyes, and Buffy immediately felt like someone very, very strong was pressing down on her shoulders and holding down her legs, inhibiting any movement. Suddenly she noticed something cold and thin snaking its way up one arm. Her mind was instantly filled with images of everything terrible that fit the description, until she actually saw the cedar-colored tendril. There were many of them, working together to bind her in place, and each of them looked like a piece of the hardwood floor that had been pinched and twisted until it rose out of the ground like a serpentine vine with wood-grain.

Amelia gestured with her hands, and suddenly Buffy was engulfed in a sinister violet light, and her peroxide-bleached hair glowed fluorescent purple, leaping out unnaturally from its shadowy surroundings.

The real estate agent began a prideful oration. "A demon informed me his crossing into this dimension was hindered by an inordinately large source of psychic energy, within the city. With my own Vision I realized that the greatest source of power emanated from two individuals, you and your acquaintance. No vampire, no matter how powerful or how old - " she gazed smugly at Buffy, "Can naturally possess this much power, let alone a little teenage girl like the Slayer."

"Hey!" interrupted an indignant Buffy, but the psychic ignored her interjection.

_What has the Slayer got to do with this? _wondered Amber. _I don't get why Amelia's interested in the Slayer, anyway. She seems to be interested in the power that comes from the swap, which involves Spike and Buffy. How does the Slayer fit into this?_

"There must be some magical aid, some spell or something similar, causing this effect. And as Amber assures me that attempting to goad you to speak will be an entire waste of my time, I've resigned myself to doing this in a more difficult, more entertaining way.

"_Reverse all enchantments_," Amelia pronounced, eyeing the restrained subject of the spell with somewhat repressed glee.

The air around Buffy thrummed with energy as Amelia's psychic powers set to work. Buffy felt her skin stretch as the air currents pushed and pulled on it, and she began to panic as she realized she was roped to the bottom of a whirlpool of vicious winds, completely helpless.

Suddenly the winds ceased to press inwards on Buffy, but rather exploded outwards, sending a large ripple through the air of the room. A shockwave snapped in Amelia's ears just as she was catapulted backwards into an antique table. Amber cackled, but instantly began coughing instead as soon as Amelia's gaze turned on her.

Amelia's face had the expression of a religious zealot who has been brutally disillusioned. "What does this mean?" she asked anyone who was willing to answer.

"Means ya fucked up?" suggested Amber to brightly.

The mage spoke. "It means – I believe it means that the spell focuses on others than just this one person. Perhaps, the girl you detected, the one I identified to be the Slayer, is needed, in addition to the vampire?"

"How is it that you have all the answers?" Amelia inquired rhetorically and turned back to Buffy. Occupied with raising her arms to work her magic, she was unaware of the mage's uncomfortable shrug or his surreptitious exiting of the house. "_Reveal!_" she shouted, the her frustration somewhat deteriorating her composure.

The air swirled around Buffy once more, and although it was rough and tore at her bloodless cheeks, she felt increasingly less strained and tense, as if she were climbing down from a very tall, precarious place, each second lessening the distance she could fall.

* * *

Spike ran out of Amber's house and into the street, looking left and right and realizing he had no clue which direction would take him to Buffy. All he had to go off of was what the small girl had told him: Amber had left with the white-haired vampire, and taken him somewhere, with his hands tied. "Fuck!"

In his anger he kicked the door of a nearby car, denting the shiny blue metal and setting off the car alarm. "BLOODY FUCKING HELL!"

A light turned on in the house across the street, shortly followed by the house's porch light. A middle-aged woman with curlers in her hair opened the door and pointed Spike out to her husband, who seemed to be dialing something on the phone.

The cops would get him, and he'd get Buffy in the police records. It would take even longer to find her and rescue her, and it might be too late, and it would be his fault. Suddenly the atmosphere tried to suffocate him, pressing inwards and twisting and turning him upside down, and the husband and wife across the street stared in shock as the blonde woman who'd tried to jack their car disappeared into thin, albeit swirling, air.

With a thud and a long string of expletives, the Slayer landed on the floor beside the blonde vampire.

Energy sparked between them and the force-field around Buffy shattered under the penetration of Spike and Buffy sparks. "Spike..." Buffy said, sitting up and reaching towards him.

A curious frown on her face, Amelia pushed her hands in opposite directions, causing the pair of blondes to slide away from each other and crash into walls at opposite ends of the room. Amber winced at the obviously painful collision.

"Fascinating..." murmured Amelia. "Their auras are crossed..." She watched as energy arced between the two, across the several hundred feet of the large room. "Mage," she called out, "It now seems entirely possible that your suggestion of a body swap could prove to be..." she silenced as she became aware that the mage was no longer in the room. Clapping her hands, she caused the walls to grow tendrils, which reached out to bind the two captives' limbs. Sighing, Amelia's fashionable heels clicked out of the room in search for the mage. Amber's eyes were trained on her boss as the woman exited.

"Buffy! You alright, Buffy?" Spike shouted across the room, thrashing against his bonds.

Buffy nodded, and slouched against the wall, resigned to her fate as a captive of an evil, obsessive-compulsive real estate saleswoman.

Spike watched her sink back into the tendrils. "Buffy, don't – " he began, but a small hand clamped over his mouth.

"Shut up, you cross-dressing moron," hissed a female voice. An offended Spike mumbled against the hand, but its owner took no notice. "These rope things are just made out of plaster and wallpaper, only they stretch to your body, so the captive can't break loose." Spike heard snapping and crackling and the sound of falling plaster dust, and Amber's voice returned in his ear. "Now get lost before that bitch gets back, or you'll have blown your chance at escape." Spike's gaze drifted over to Buffy, and Amber groaned. "Forget the fucking girl!" she growled.

Spike frowned, and then turned to the female vampire. "Love to, only without her I can never get my own body back...which i would /i be a pity." He brought his face, with a sexy smirk, closer to Amber's, completely forgetting for a moment that he was in Buffy's body.

Amber, however, took a tense and unnecessary inhalation, as she stepped the smallest bit backwards, and then shook her head to clear it.

"Now, be a good girl and go keep watch, would you?" Amber nodded quickly and hurried away. Spike rushed over to Buffy and snapped the plaster tendrils, helping her stand. As soon as she held her own weight, Buffy's knees buckled, so Spike pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and let her lean on them as they hobbled towards the door.

Amber counted to thirty after Buffy and Spike slowly crossed the threshold of the front door, and then shouted, "Amelia! The captives, they're escaping, come quickly!" Amelia's heels clicked furiously across the room and onto the front walkway, but Spike managed to hotwire a car, and drove off before she could catch up.

Spike broke every speed limit he'd ever heard of until he entered urban L.A. He pulled over into an empty space, parking haphazardly, and he and a very exhausted Buffy scrambled out of the car.

"How much money have you got, Slayer?"

"Two dollars, why?"

"I've got three cents, so looks like taxis are out of the question. And looks like you're hardly up to walking. We're taking the bloody bus."

Dead tired, and in some cases simply dead, Buffy and Spike collapsed on their bed. Buffy yawned loudly, and Spike smirked and stuck his finger in her mouth. "I'm tired," she defended herself, grinning. "All that weird magic-y stuff took something out of me...Like maybe motor control of my legs."

"Then sleep."

"We need to talk," she replied.

Spike stared at her, clearly about to counter with some smart-ass response, but then he changed his mind. "Bugger, we'll talk in the morning. Just get some sleep."

She let herself fall backwards onto the pillow. Spike pulled the covers over her body and lay down next to her. Smiling lethargically, Buffy cuddled up close to Spike and within one minute was asleep.

"That bird...She acted quite strange, don't you think, Slayer?"

"I don't think about birds," Buffy mumbled sleepily.

"I wonder what _her_ story is. She seems familiar, but I don't think we've ever met. I just can't figure out what she wants, or even whose side she's on."

"Whose side is anybody on, Spike? Definitely not on you," she said decisively, into his shoulder.

As little as he understood what Buffy had meant her point to be, he definitely felt she had one. Whose side was anybody on? He and the Slayer had been mortal enemies, but now they were clearly on the same side.

Buffy, as the Chosen One, was on the side of good. But was Spike? He was supposed to be an evil vampire. He still wanted to kill, and cared nothing for morality or laws.

Whose side was he on, anyway? Dru or Buffy's? He didn't want to decide, he much preferred ambivalence.

Satisfied with his decision to be officially undecided, Spike joined Buffy in sleep, and dreamt of Buffy, of Slayers, and of a small, copper-haired girl who had sunk so deeply in his memory he'd all but forgotten her.


	12. Interlude

**

* * *

12: INTERLUDE**

**

* * *

**  
_A girl sauntered into the classroom just as the bell rang. Sociably she smiled or waved at other students as she took her seat._

"_Barely on time, Miss Preist, as usual," commented the teacher snydely. "I assume Faith is right behind you?"_

"_Oh, yeah. We decided she'd get here two minutes after me, to make me look better." The entire class burst into laughter, the girl included, gray-blue eyes sparkling with mischievous fun. _

_The teacher's mouth grew very small as she pressed her lips together. "Let's give your friend three minutes to sit her behind down at her desk before I send a note to the attendance office." When the teacher turned her back, the girl imitated the teacher with a simpering face, and several students tried to mask their laughter. Three minutes later, the class began, and the girl switched from drawing on her desk to drawing on her notepad, interspersing the pictures with occasional notes on the Bill of Rights. The desk beside her remained empty the entire period._

_As the girl left the classroom, she walked right into another student. "Yo, Faith!" Miss Preist exclaimed, "Where _were_ ya durin' history?"_

_The larger girl draped her arm over her companion's shoulders as the two of them navigated the hallway. "Places. Better places than Wagner's class."_

"_I can believe it. But still...Cutter!" She gently kicked Faith's shin. "Ditcher! Loser!"_

_At the last word, Faith's eyes lit up. "If ya wanna hear about losers, lemme tell ya about the lady who talked to me just now. Ya won't believe it, P, it's outrageous."_

"_Arright, spill."_

_For an instant, Faith's grin vanished as she looked at the number of students swarming around them. "C'mon, let's chat in the bathroom."_

_The girl hopped up and sat on the sink counter, only to seconds later make a face. "Great, now my ass is wet."_

"_Deal with it, P. Lemme tell ya the story. So this weird English gal comes up to me and she's like, 'Ahh yeu Miss Faith?' An' I'm like, sure, lady, who the hell are you? And she says, 'I am Elizabeth Bahlkin, yoh Watchah.' An' she tells me I'm this superchic called the Slayer, an' it's like my sacred duty or something to kick the asses of vampires and stuff."_

"_Cool!" interjected P. "That's just like in the movies, only weirder."_

"_Nah, it's even better. I'm s'posed to have like superpowers or somethin', cos vampires are superstrong."_

"_Not that it's not awesome an' all, Faith – cos it is – but I hope this sacred duty of yours isn't gonna stop us from hangin' tonight. I mean, yeah, maybe we could work in some vampire hunting, but I pretty much had partying in mind. But no reason why we can't do both." P smiled happily at her friend, who was finally getting a much-deserved lucky break._

"_Not that it'll be much of a problem. I doubt vampires _wanna_ party. They're just kinda weird, blood-sucking monster guys, right?"_

"'_Zactly."_

_In jumping down from the counter, P slipped in a puddle of water and fell to the floor. "Fuck!" she exclaimed, and grabbed her ankle._

"_Y'alright, P?" Faith asked with a frown._

_The smaller girl stood up cautiously, and then decided her ankle was fine. "I'm five by five," she told the Slayer with a conspiratory grin, running a hand through her copper-colored hair, messing it up skillfully. _


	13. Killer

* * *

**13: KILLER**

* * *

"So this is Spike," said Mr. Brown, a smile stretched across is leathery face. "Mornin'." He beckoned the pair to the foot of a staircase and began the ascent. 

"Better be worth it, Slayer," he hissed in her ear. "I'd sooner sit with your Watcher an' let him prattle on 'bout his musty books."

"What is _with_ you today?" she demanded sharply. "Last night you were all cuddly– " he visibly bristled at the adjective – "And now you're sulky and broody."

"I'm not brooding! It's nothing, I just had some dreams last night, is all."

"Yeah, me too. It's no big, just...You know." She smiled grimly and followed Mr. Brown up the stairs.

"Tea?" asked the old man brightly. "Coffee? Or wouldya like some blood, Buffy?"

Buffy smiled. "I'll have coffee, actually."

"Blood – just kidding, Slayer. I don't need anything."

Mr. Brown nodded and started out the door. "Oh, I almost forget. The both o' yuh can take a look at the stuff what's on dat table, while yuh wait." With that, he closed the door, through which pots could be heard clanking together.

"So," said Spike. "Let's see what we've got. Toad spell, turn your nosy neighbor into a toad. Ooh, look, it works for other animals – you can turn 'im into a rat, or a giraffe, or a cuckoo."

"I see somebody already hit Dru with that one. You know, cuckoo..."

"Very funny, Slayer," Spike told her dryly. "We could turn Rupert into a giraffe, see how he'd fit into that tweed then."

Buffy rolled her eyes, and then scooted closer to look over Spike's shoulder. "What else have they got?" Flipping the stiff pages, Buffy quickly read over several spells that seemed entirely unrelated. Then suddenly, Spike's hand shot and landed on a cream-colored page. "Love spell?" asked Buffy skeptically. "Spike, no one's under a love spell; no one's in love."

It took him a second or two to respond, and when he did, he said hurriedly, "Well, no, of course not. Only I've always wondered, if maybe a love spell would make Dru...never mind." Spike pulled his hand away, his thoughts now turned to Drusilla and the way she'd been around Angelus. Buffy shrugged and continued looking.

As Buffy was tiring of the silence in the room, the door opened, and Mr. Brown entered, bearing coffee and a teapot. He handed Buffy her coffee and asked, "Y' sure yuh won't be wantin' any tea, Spike? There's plenny."

"Actually, I...I wouldn't mind some," replied the ex-vamp, in a manner that very much reminded Buffy of Giles.

After everyone was comfortable and situated within close reach of his or her drink, Mr. Brown began. "As I told Buffy, I haven't the least idea of what's happened to y' both, so I figger, a little testin's a good place to start. Nothin' big, just a few things that'll be more like games dan anything else."

Spike grumbled something unenthusiastic, and while Buffy was peppy and friendly, he spent the entire rest of the day being either sullen or sardonic.

Six hours later, the three people reconvened around the coffee table, with a new round of beverages.

Mr. Brown began. "Well, we know that one of you can't sense the other's location; neither do you have the same tastes, which means the spell can't be all that complicated. What you _can_ do is have a...well, those in thuh know call it a 'linked consciousness.'"

"Like mind-reading, you're saying?" asked Spike suspiciously.

Buffy's eyes widened. _He can read my mind? He knows exactly what I'm thinking, whenever he feels like listening? Does that mean he knows I think he's sexy? That I spend valuable minutes every day thinking about his sexiness, or what it would be like to sleep with him – not, of course, that I've_ ever _thought about that – just, theoretically..._

Mr. Brown continued. "Not ezzactly. The adept - wicca, for example, can read moods. But I suspect dat, for thuh two o' yuh bein' conscious, so tuh speak, might inhibit..." At their blank looks, Mr. Brown gave them a look of sharp reprimand that was very reminiscent of Giles's, and rephrased, "I'm sayin', yuh might share dreams."

"That's not all that comforting," announced Spike. "It's not _just_ my thoughts that are...well..." Buffy glared at him.

"Why don't thuh both o' yuh go home, have sommin tuh eat, an' I'll look for likely spells."

Buffy hopped up, starving. "Thank you, Mr. Brown. You have no idea how grateful we are – Spike's more grateful than he looks, I swear." She practically bounced out of the room and down the stairs.

Spike searched the coffee table for the book they'd looked at earlier, but when Buffy shouted, "Spike, you coming?" he swore and followed her. _Have to look at that bloody love spell another time,_ he thought as he followed the vampire into the late afternoon shadows.

* * *

"Yo, sistah." A vampire playfully slapped Amber on the ass and sat on the makeup counter. 

"Move it, Val." Amber resumed applying her thick black eyeliner. "You're blockin' my view."

Val laughed. "Man, you just can't let go of that human stuff, can you? I mean, it's not like you can actually see yourself in the mirror anyway. Don't get me wrong – you are one hell of a vamp, Amber, and all of this damn city knows it – but any vamp can tell you're new."

Amber shrugged and stared back into the empty mirror. "Sometimes I just think...If I look hard enough, then maybe..."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Trust me, you'll get over it in a year or two. I mean, cut yourself some slack. It's only been like, what, six months?"

Amber nodded. "Seven on Saturday."

Val screeched. "Saturday? Dude, we're gonna party, right?"

Tossing the liner pencil on the counter, Amber grinned sinisterly. "All we have to do is get Slutswoman off my back and it's fiesta time. She's pretty pissed about the way her plan fucked up last night, but I figure she can deal. Why don't you round up all the sisters, and tell 'em we're gonna play some party games on Saturday. Maybe the minions can set up."

"I'm on it, girlfriend." Val saluted playfully and left the room.

Amber watched the brunette leave, and then flopped down on her beanbag chair. She felt much better now that she was planning her party. After what she had done at Amelia's, the undead teen needed something to get the nasty taste of being good out of her mouth.

* * *

The next days, Buffy and Spike returned to Brown's, but the old man had no definitive answer. It seemed everything and nothing was possible – while Buffy and Spike's situation resembled just about all appearance changing spells, it seemed to resist all reversal spells or any incantations that tried to reveal its exact nature. Mr. Brown claimed that there could be two reasons for this, neither of which particularly narrowed their search: either the caster of the spell has been much more powerful than Mr. Brown, or the spell had been anchored to some object. Either way, it looked like the pair of blondes was going to stay switched for a while to come. Mr. Brown suggested that they spend their weekend trying not to worry about the swap; he would research that evening and on Sunday so by Monday they might have a lead. 

Buffy stood in the shower, watching the streams of water run down her masculine chest. Although the whole sharing-a-room-with-Spike thing could have been worse, Buffy appreciated the time away from him. He was rude and moody with moods she couldn't fathom, always ready with some sarcastic comment, and although she often had fun exchanging repartee, she wished he could be more like Angel. And of course, the worst thing about Spike was that he was evil. Sure, he wasn't Angelus evil, he was more "I like the world, I like Happy meals on legs," evil. He wasn't a scheming apocalypse starter, Buffy realized that.

Spike was a killer.

Fighting was what he did best, what he enjoyed most. She could see it, when he rammed a stake through some vampire's chest and set his eyes ablaze with excitement. She could see it, when they walked down the street and he gazed the passerby, wishing that he could kill. It was funny, since she was the Slayer, and to slay meant to kill. But Buffy wasn't a killer like Spike, because she hated her job. And she hated seeing her own hazel eyes burn with lust for the kill, because when Spike was in there, the Slayer _was _a killer. And Buffy knew that it was a good look for her, and she hated it, just as she hated Spike for being sexy and making her want him.

She stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair dry, and suddenly an undressed Spike was there, running his female hands over her naked chest and kissing her neck. She locked his lips in a hard, demanding kiss that left him panting.

"Waitin' for my turn, got me thinking...Ever taken a shower with a man, pet?" he asked as soon as he found his voice.

"Well technically, you're a woman...But whoa. Spike. We haven't even had sex on the bed, and you're saying we make love in the shower?"

Spike laughed. _This woman really is something,_ he thought with amusement. _"Make love"?_ "Luv, I wasn't suggesting, although if you're offering...I can hardly say no."

"Well, uh...I-I..." the flustered Buffy looked away from his eyes and instead looked at his body, noticing again the not-quite-flat stomach and the thighs whose shape she hated. She realized her modesty made her embarrassed not for herself, but for her body, which coincidentally Spike was occupying. "Uh..."

"No worries, pet. I know ways we can both enjoy ourselves without even touching." He smirked as he reached for the faucet to turn the shower on once more. "Each other, that is..."

"Spike..."

He stepped into the shower. "C'mon, darlin', you're wasting water." Feeling like she could die from shame, Buffy joined him in the shower. Spike stood directly below the nozzle, not even in the stream of water, but somehow getting wet from the spray. He positioned Buffy on the opposite end of the tub, the water pounding against her chest.

"You can do something, pet. Don't have to stand still."

"Spike, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Poppycock. Tell me what you're doing, like this." He moved one hand downwards, slowly, keeping eye contact with her the entire time. "I am sliding my hand down my stomach, towards my crotch. Your turn."

Buffy whimpered. "I'm...I'm touching my...Spike, this is ridiculous. I don't have a dick. It's your dick."

"Fine, call it mine, if you like. Just get to it."

"I'm running my finger down...your dick."

"Good, Slayer. Now, I'm swirling my fingers 'round your little pink nipple..." Buffy watched him fondle and gently pinch his nipple, realizing she couldn't think of a single more embarrassing thing to be doing.

"I'm pumping my hand up and down, and I'm using my other hand to...to squeeze your...balls…Spike? This is humiliating...And I'm really, really horny now..." He grunted in reply. "I want to kiss you."

"Do I look like I'm stopping you?" He looked at her through the curtain of water and steam.

Taking two steps, Buffy crossed the distance, grabbing his hips and pulling him flush up against her. Their mouths crushed against each other, tongues plundering soft cheeks. Buffy ground her against Spike.

"God..." Buffy moaned.

"Need you," rasped Spike against her lips.

Realizing that knowing what to do really wasn't an issue, Buffy positioned herself at his entrance. "Want you," she replied, sounding desperate and aroused even to herself, but not particularly caring.

"How's it feel? Tight?"

Buffy nodded. "And weird, being on the...Other side of..." she thrust again, establishing a slow but forceful rhythm. "Things."

"I second that." Spike felt himself clenching around her, and he jumped up to wrap his legs around her waist. "Christ, Buffy..."

She pushed Spike up against the wet tiles of the shower wall and She thrust a few more times before she felt absolutely spent, barely able to continue to hold Spike in her arms.

Spike. "Oh my God, Spike, I'm sorry...I'm just not all that good, and..."

"Shh..." murmured Spike comfortingly, dropping to stand in front of her, and press a gentle kiss to her lips. He accepted that there were some times when his budding love for the Slayer, even if it was love spell love and not the real thing, could not be contained by conscious thought, and so he let himself comfort her to his heart's content. "'S alright, pet. You're alright. It's your first time like this, and it's hard work gettin' a woman to come. Took me few years practice to make it happen every time."

Buffy calmed from her panic and looked into his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

* * *

A middle-aged man frowned, looking over his menu and around the restaurant. The patrons were peacefully eating and wiping their mouths with lace-edged napkins, but he could tell something wasn't right. In the distance he heard crashes and shouts, and car tires screaming as they left skid marks on pavement. 

Suddenly a waiter scrambled out of the kitchen, his cream-colored shirt spattered with blood. "Everybody, run! Get out while you can! Hurry, before it's too late!"

A baby started to cry, and a young teen couple began screaming. Various families started swearing at one another, scrambling around overturned tables and chairs for the windows.

The middle-aged man heard the waiter's scream of terror end in a wet gurgle. He turned around and saw a tall and equally wide man with a ridged forehead pull his fangs out of a bloody mess on the waiter's neck. The middle-aged man watched as the vampire carelessly tossed the limp body to the floor.

In a deep voice, the vampire cackled. "It's already too late."

The middle-aged man assumed that the vampire's threat meant he was planning to kill all the patrons right then and there, but apparently the large creature had different plans. He watched with satisfaction while the restaurant emptied out, the teen couple smashing the window with their chairs and spraying glass all over the sidewalk. The middle-aged man picked up a broken chair leg and, cornering the vampire as it drank from a young toddler, rammed the piece of wood through the monster's heart. Then he turned and hurried through the window.

Outside, the streets resembled a scene from some horror movie. Terrified mothers screamed at the top of their lungs, looking for their children, while young men clustered to form fighting squads. Children scampered two and fro, adding to the chaos. Every street lamp had been broken, and most businesses and restaurants were dark as well. The noise was deafening, and the smell putrid with the scents of blood, garbage, and gasoline.

The middle-aged man tripped over an obstacle in front of him. It was soft and irregularly shaped, and also sticky and wet. The man noticed that the ground he'd dropped to was also sticky. Curious as to what had tripped him, the man leaned closer and realized that the lump seemed to have hair, matted together and stuck to what looked like a face. As he realized the truth, a car drove by, illuminating a mangled body. In the blue-white glow of its headlights, he noticed that the stickiness all over the corpse and himself was the red color of blood. Despite years of training in the bloody and gruesome, the man could not hold back a scream.

* * *

"Patrol?" 

The vampire nodded, reaching for the leather duster. Spike, however, beat her to it and pulled the too-large garment over his shoulders.

Buffy stared. _Oh my God. I can't believe I just had sex with Spike._ She also couldn't believe he hadn't found away to run off, to make some allusion to her lack of sexual prowess and split. When she remembered exactly why he had stuck around, in fact why the two of them had been stuck together in the first place, Buffy realized something else. _Oh my fucking God. I can't believe I just had sex with Spike while he was in _my_ body!_ She knew she hadn't really meant to, but she knew no moron, not even herself, would believe their lovemaking had been an accident. How exactly had she _accidentally_ shoved her dick into...Nope, it was a fully unaccidental moment, and maybe while she hadn't technically planned it, some part of her must have known it was coming. _Not that I'm regretful, or anything. Far from it. In fact..._

"Coming, Slayer?" He smiled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Which, it occurred to Buffy, was possible in light of Mr. Brown's discovery. _God, he's so annoying._

Buffy and Spike had just reached the hotel lobby when the outside chaos reached their ears. "What's that?" asked Buffy apprehensively.

Spike shrugged. "Sounds like a good ol' massacre...Y'know, those things are downright fun, you should try one sometime," he told her, completely serious.

"You're disgusting," said Buffy with feeling, and she raced for the door.

* * *

A small boy paused at the mouth of a dark and narrow street, looking all directions, trying to remember which way he was supposed to go. Straight ahead didn't look right, but straight behind he knew was wrong, because he'd just been there. Frowning, he stood still...and realized he heard footsteps. Thud...thud...he heard a splash as a pair of heavy boots stepped in a puddle. Someone was getting closer, and he knew all about strangers and how he wasn't allowed to talk to them, so he made up his mind quickly and ran straight ahead. 

The boots started walking faster, changing from a slow drumbeat to a faster rhythm that made his heart beat faster. With absolutely no idea where he was going, the child crossed the street, darting in front of speeding cars. His heart pounding against his ribcage and his feet pounding the sidewalk, he ran past an alley and straight into a group of three girls, all much taller and older than him. They stared down at him with distorted faces and eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Screaming, the boy stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to see his original pursuer quickly shortening the distance between them in her heavy black boots. Panting, the boy turned down the alley, brushing his light-brown bangs out of his eyes. He ran as fast has his six-year-old legs could carry him, looking behind every few seconds to see when any of the girls entered the alley.

Suddenly something hard and cold collided with his face, and the boy fell backwards onto his back. Standing up quickly, he stared at the chicken wire fence that closed off any chance of escape. Maybe, he could climb it. Maybe...

The boots entered the alley, back at their lazy drumbeat. Thud...thud... Not even thinking real thoughts, the boy ran towards the fence and threw himself down on his stomach, wriggling like a snake trapped under the heavy black boots of his pursuer. White-hot pain seared down his back as metal tore through his skin, but as suddenly as he felt it the feeling disappeared, and he was running towards freedom...

He heard the fence clatter behind him, but he kept on running. Suddenly one of the girls landed in front of him, so suddenly that he ran right into her chest. She pinned his arms to his sides and looked into his face with a smile. Her face was normal and pretty, but her gray-blue eyes were cold and feral and so much worse than the gold eyes. The boy screamed in terror.

"Fuck! That was nice, Amber."

His captor grinned, and in front of his very eyes he saw her teeth elongate into fangs, and her cold blue eyes warm to a deadly gold as the bones in her face shifted to form ridges on her forehead. With a growl, Amber tore into the boy's soft neck. She drank until he went limp. "Think you can do the same thing, Naomi?"

Naomi never got a chance to answer; she screamed and exploded into dust. "I doubt it," said Buffy grimly, seething with hatred.

"You really are a party pooper, ya know that Buffy? We were gonna jump her in and all that shit, and ya just had to go and dust her?"

Thu-thum...thu-thum...Buffy's vampire ears picked out a weak heartbeat through the din and Amber's ranting. _The kid's still alive,_ realized Buffy, as she took several surreptitious steps toward the body.

"Y' noticed that too, did ya?" asked Amber. "I was hoping I could find someone he knows...Ya know, his mommy, or big sis, or his best friend...They could have a...dying party." She laughed, and Buffy was struck by how much younger than herself this vampire seemed. She guessed Amber must have been turned when she was about fifteen or sixteen.

Although when it came to evil, murdering, child-tormenting monsters, Buffy could kill fifteen-year-old ones just as well as she could if they were forty. Buffy leaped on Amber, punching her and kicking her into a brick wall. As she drew closer, stake in hand, Amber darted between Buffy's legs and jumped on top of the roof of the closest building. "You better hurry," she called down. "The kid could die any minute. Rush him to the hospital, like the good little white hat you are. God, you guys make me want to fucking retch." With that, Amber disappeared into the night, and Buffy scooped the boy into her arms and ran.

* * *

Buffy leaned against the clean white wall of the hospital. Although the gory scene outside was disturbing, Buffy had seen horrific vampire attacks before, and she knew how to handle them. Knew how to push the bad memories to the parts of her mind where she wouldn't re-experience them. It wasn't Amber's form of entertainment that bothered the former Slayer. 

It was Amber herself. That delicate, mocking face, her course and contemptuous language, the way she moved...all of it was too familiar, in a creepy, stalker-ish way. Things she remembered that added up to something she'd forgotten.

Buffy looked at the tile floor and thought she remembered again, before whatever it was darted once more out of her grasp.

A hand came to rest on her arm. Buffy turned around to look at Spike. His hair was coming down in wisps from his ponytail, and his clothes and skin were spattered with blood and dirty water. Blood had dried around a small cut on his forehead.

Buffy wasn't sure whether he had killed vampires or humans, but she knew he'd enjoyed himself fighting. She was dimly aware that there had been times when she'd enjoyed the rush of kicking and punching and the excitement of not knowing what came next. But those days were over, and she killed because she had to.

"Ready to head home, pet?"

Buffy nodded and followed Spike out the door.

* * *

"That was one hell of a party, girlfriend." 

Amber cracked her knuckles absent-mindedly. "Guess so." She grinned, messing up her purple hair.

One of the Sisters punched Amber in the arm. "'Course, you know what comes next." Their leader stared blankly. "You can't really unlive until you put your mortal life behind you! Tell us a funny story, Amber, something terrible. Hopefully something gory."

Val inserted herself into the conversation, as was her habit. "Don't forget – the best ones are the ones where you cried. Then can all get a good fucking laugh!"

Amber sipped human blood out of a ceramic Starbucks mug. "Alright, I'm tellin', and you'd better believe it. When I was alive, I was such a wuss. I had this...really good friend, who was givin' me the silent treatment with the sharin'. Wouldn't tell me nothin' that mattered. Anyway, so I was so ticked off I ditched, and started hangin' out with some really cool guys...Some really cool _dead_ guys. So the next thing I know, the fuckers turned me, but they were such losers I was like a fledgling without a Sire, you know? So get this, this is the good part – I found this master vampire, who'd bagged like a shit load of Slayers, and I begged him to help me. I was one hell of a loser. But then I'm like, holy fuck hold on a sec, I don't need this crap, so I came here to LA. You guys know the rest. That's it, in four months I went from loser to...less of a loser." She laughed and downed the rest of her blood.

"Amber..." said a bleach-blonde named Sicily. "You're not a loser."

She laughed. "No, but I'm still kind of a fledgling without a Sire."

"Still," said Sicily, "Your story is awesome. I wish something that exciting happened to me. You're like, villain with a _past._"

Amber stared into her mug, wondering where all the blood had gone. _Exciting?_ She didn't know what she thought about that description. _People, you have no idea._


End file.
